


Sugar Cube

by MusicReject



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: 1920s, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Crime, Death, F/M, Guns, Murder, NYC, Period-Typical Racism, Prohibition, Roaring 20s, Scottish Mob, Segregation, Sex, Speakeasies, Violence, mafia, mob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28085859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicReject/pseuds/MusicReject
Summary: 1920s New York City. The Roaring 20s. The height of prohibition and the time when the mafia runs the streets. Claire Beauchamp, niece of Doctor Quentin Beauchamp, gets in over her head when a trio of men arrive on her uncle's doorstep in the middle of the night; covered in blood and calling for help.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Geillis Duncan/Dougal Mackenzie, Jenny Fraser/Ian Murray, Joe Abernathy/Gail Abernathy
Comments: 127
Kudos: 160





	1. 1925

The dark wood of the interior glistens in the bright lights and the air smells of booze, sweat, and cheap perfume (the kind a doll swears is from France). The men standing on the stage with their saxophones and trumpets are the center of all the attention, dancing bodies swarm around the stage like flies to honey, while the rich, gravelly voice of Louis Armstrong sings into the silver mic. She sits on a stool at the bar, her legs crossed with her shimmering gold dress cascading down to her calves exposing smooth porcelain skin and shiny black pumps. A stray curl escapes from her updo, springing down to frame her pale face, rose blush circled on her cheeks with her lips stained the color of blood. Her fingers loosely wrapped around a sazerac, the bottom of the glass resting lightly on her pinky, her other hand tracing the rim of the glass, stained a light pink from her lips. Her eyes slowly scan the crowd as the dark-haired man next to her gestures widely with his filled glass, gin sloshing over the side and landing on the floor. He barely pauses in his speech, carrying on about- well, something, she isn’t too sure, honestly, having tuned him out about ten minutes ago. She was certain it had something to do automobiles. 

“What can I get you, sir?” the gentleman behind the bar appears with a towel slung over his shoulder and a glass waiting in his hand.

She glances at the newly arrived man on her right, scanning his dark tailored suit and slicked back red hair before realizing that he spoke, “I’ll have whatever the lady’s having,” he says with a nod in her direction.

“The lady’s having a sazerac,” she replies, tilting her glass in her direction.

He smiles and says to the bartender, “two sazeracs, please.”

The bartender nods and sets another glass on the bar, quickly pouring what was necessary before pushing the glasses to the man, who places a dollar in his hand, “keep the change.”

He turns to her and pushes one of the glasses in her direction before picking up the other, “ye looked a bit low. Sláinte,” he toasts her before taking a drink.

She drinks as well before speaking up with a smile on her red lips, barely noticing the irritated man on her other side getting up from his stool and walking away, “what’s a Scotsman doing in Manhattan?”

He raises an eyebrow but replies with a smile of his own, “what’s an Englishwoman doing in Manhattan?”

“Touché,” she says with a laugh, takes another sip, and says, “alright mac, you gonna to tell the lady your name or are you gonna make me guess?”

“Fraser,” he says with a teasing bow, “James Fraser,” he takes her hand and presses a light kiss to the back, “but you can call me Jamie.”

“Fraser, huh? I thought all gangsters were Italian?” she replies with a raised eyebrow.

He pauses for a moment but grins, “now who said anything about being a gangster?”

“Well,” she quickly slides her hand under his suit jacket and grabs the gun from his waistband, sitting back on her stool and giving the weapon a slight twirl with her finger, “with a piece like this, what’s a lady supposed to think?”

He laughs loudly, a sound that makes her heart almost jump into her throat, and takes the gun back, tucking it into his waistband, “maybe I’m nae as subtle as I thought.”

“You’ll have to work on that, Jamie,” she says with a smile, resting her chin on the palm of her hand, “I’ve heard it’s a dangerous business.”

He takes a seat on the stool next to her and mirrors her position, “well, if I told ye anythin’, I’d have to clip ye.”

Taking a sip from her lukewarm drink, she replies with a smirk, “well, if it means I see you again then I hope that’s a promise.”

He blinks in surprise before replying, “ye want t’ see me again?”

She leans slightly towards him, “well that depends.”

He smiles and leans towards her, “on what?” The blasts of the trumpets reach a deafening crescendo around them.

“What you’ll do with me.”

A woman with bobbed red hair and a silver beaded dress walks up to the woman in gold, leaning close to her ear, she whispers, “Claire, we need t’ go. The fuzz are outside and we dinna want Lamb catching ye out so late, ‘specially from the clubhouse.”

Claire nods and picks up her black fur collared coat from the bar, slipping her arms through the sleeves, “well, Fraser, you and your men better dash unless you want the big house.” She takes a few steps away from Jamie before he catches her arm and turns her around.

“How do I see ye again?”

She grins at him, “how ‘bout a challenge? If you can find me, we’ll go to the pictures.”

“How can I find ye? I dinna know yer name.” He’s nearly pleading with her; just for something as simple as her name. Something nearly everyone she has come across for the past 20 years has known without her even having to introduce herself.

Before she can respond, her friend is pulling her away from him and through a door behind the bar that fits neatly into the wood paneling of the wall it’s placed in. The bartender pushes the small table back in front of it and continues replacing the glasses on the shelves behind the bar.

* * *

Claire makes her way up a dark staircase hidden behind the basement bar, tightening her coat while Geillis pushes the concrete door open, revealing a filthy alleyway, covered in garbage, and smelling of piss. After Claire steps through, the two of them push the door closed and move the trashcans back in front of the concrete, covering the door handle and their footprints in the snow. They link arms and walk out of the alleyway, on to the sidewalk basked in light. Their heels click on the concrete as they walk, waiting for a taxi to appear on the street, snowflakes drifting down from the dark sky above.

“Sorry I left you with Frank, hen,” Geillis apologizes, looking slightly worried at her dearest friend’s reaction.

Claire waives her hand, disregarding Geillis’s apologies, “nothing to be sorry for, Geilli, I saw you with Dougal and I can’t expect you to stay by my side the entire night.”

The cops Geillis mentioned finally make their way around the corner from the front of the building and make their way to the two women. They take their hats off and the one on the right speaks up, “good evening, ladies.”

Claire straightens her back like her uncle taught her and keeps a relaxed smile on her face, “good evening, officers. Are you enjoying the snow?” She feels Geillis’s arm tighten around hers and prays that either Geillis takes over or her face doesn’t betray her thoughts like usual.

“Quite,” the officers look around, “have either of you ladies heard any music or smelled any booze around these parts?”

Geillis, taking the bait she knows it to be, speaks up and says, “no, officer. We just left our dear friend’s house. She was widowed in the Great War, ye see, an’ we go o’er once a week t’ keep the puir lass company.”

The officers glance at each other but Geillis continues talking, “this year’s hard on her, ye ken, as winter was her husband’s favorite season. Lord knows why, o’ course,” she gestures with her hand, “but we kent that a wee bit o’ company does wonders for the lonely soul.” She looks them up and down, “are either of ye gentlemen single? We can’t keep her company all th’ time, ye ken.”

Both officers clear their throat and one rubs the back of his neck, “ah, well, we’re sorry to bother you, ladies.” The officer on the left replies, “please have a safe night.” And pulls his partner down the sidewalk, walking to the other side of the road where their car waits and urges him to get inside. A small argument takes place but, with a glance at the friends, both officers get in their car and drive away.

Geillis glances at Claire and they burst out laughing, Geillis wiping tears from her eyes, “oh! I was prepared to cry so they’d believe me.”

Claire laughs, “oh Geilli, what would I do without you?” She pulls Geillis to the corner of the street where a taxi slowly creeps down the snowy road. She waves her hand and as the taxi pulls up, she says to the redhead, “how does a cuppa sound when we get home? Lamb has an early appointment so he’s long asleep by now.”

Geillis pulls open the door and gestures Claire in, sliding in after her and shutting the door, “a cuppa sounds wonderful, hen.”

Claire leans forward in her seat and says to the driver, “660 Fifth Avenue, please, but do drive carefully, we’re in no rush.”

The driver smiles at her and pulls into the road, leaving the speakeasy behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is my first Outlander fic and I'm posting the first chapter to see if anyone's interested in me finishing the rest. There's some slang that I try to make historically accurate as well as the buildings, streets, cars, and clothes. Please let me know if you'd like the definitions of the slang used as well as pictures of what I'm describing (I've got a bunch bookmarked). I might describe things too much but I'm genuinely trying for immersion and to make things as accurate as possible (except for a few things that will become apparent as the story progresses). I have the ending already written as well as a few scenes but please let me know if you're at all interested in reading further chapters.


	2. Morning

Claire awakens the following morning to the morning sun streaming in across her face through the gauzy curtains in her bedroom, a pounding headache, and the feeling of cotton filling her mouth and throat. She grabs the duvet, or comforter as Joe insists upon calling it, and pulls it over her knotted curls, burying her face in the silk covered pillow, questioning why on earth she had that third Sazerac. Death would be kinder than this. The door to her bedroom opens and soft footsteps sound across the hardwood floor. Something metal is settled on the stand next to her bed and the curtains are pulled open, the gold rings clanging against the curtain rod and echoing in the otherwise silent room.

“Good morning, mistress Beauchamp,” a woman says, speaking softly to the tired woman in the bed.

“Sarah,” Claire groans from beneath the coverings, the fabric of the blanket tickling her nose, “please, you’re the same age as me, no more of this “mistress Beauchamp” nonsense.”

“Well, I’m not sure your uncle would approve of that, mistress.” The maid replies from where she’s standing.

Claire peaks out from underneath the covers, wincing in the sudden light, and glares in the vague direction of Sarah, “I know for a fact that Lamb doesn’t let any of you call him Dr. Beauchamp, Sarah.”

She laughs and nods her head, “I was hoping you would play along this morning; my mother is insistent upon me using those terms to show respect.”

Claire snorts and finally pushes the covers back and sits up, her curls a ferocious knotted mess atop her head, a trail of droll on the corner of her mouth, and red pillow creases on her cheeks, “Well, I will personally deal with your mother if she has a problem.” She looks up at Sarah with a pained smile before whispering conspiratorially, “did Lamb find out?”

“No, he was asleep before you even left,” Sarah responds, walking over to Claire’s bedside table, and pouring a cup of tea, “and Firouz kept an eye on things just in case he woke up.” She hands the cup to Claire after pouring a splash of laudanum for her headache and walks over to her wardrobe, pulling the doors open. “Though, truthfully, I think Quentin turns a blind eye to anything you do, so long as you are responsible. Plausible deniability, I think Firouz said.”

Claire laughs and –

_Now, dear reader, you might be thinking to yourself “why is Claire going in to so much detail about her morning routine? I want her to meet Jamie again!” Of course, we all do. I remember the first time my grandmother told me this story, of her time with Red Jamie, and I asked her “granma, why are you telling me about your sheets? When did you see Granda again?!” She laughed and stroked my hair back and said “darling, I remember every single moment of that day, down to the color of your granda’s socks.” She leaned back in her chair next to my bed, my granda’s arm settling back around her shoulders from his seat on the arm of the chair, and said, “would you like me to continue or are you ready for bed, lovey?” I immediately settled back against my pillows, my stuffed rabbit wrapped in my arms, and pulled the blanket back up, “no, I’m listening. What happened next?” My granda chuckled and kissed the top of her head, and I remember how happy they both looked in that moment, as if everything had finally fallen in place. So remember that this isn’t just a story, it’s the twisting together of two lives, in a place with every odd against them. I hope you’ll be as patient as I had to be. Now, where was I -_

takes a long drink of the tea, smiling at the familiar flavor of oolong coating her tastebuds, “I’m inclined to agree but it is fun to sneak around, even though Geillis and I wouldn’t have to. It’s almost nostalgic.”

“Speaking of Geillis,” Sarah says, looking up from pushing through Claire’s dresses, “I heard from Florence, the one who works for Mr. Angelo not the one who works for Mr. Trapani, that she heard from Helen, who works for Mr. MacKenzie, that Dougal is… quite taken with her.”

The heavy wooden door swings open and Geillis walks in, her dressing gown wrapped tightly around her, smiling like a cat who had cream for its breakfast, “well, I certainly hope so!”

“Mistress Duncan,” Sarah says, curtsying with an embarrassed smile.

Geillis waves her hand, “dinna fash, Sarah, I do love gossip in the morning, and please call me Geillis.” She sits on Claire’s bed and reaches for Claire’s cup, taking a small sip before handing it back, “I must get you into coffee, hen. Tea does nothing for waking a lass up.”

Claire rolls her eyes, “maybe you’re drinking the wrong tea.” She looks back towards Sarah and nods her head with a smile, “what else did Helen say to Florence?”

Geillis looks at Sarah with an excited glint in her eye, “yes, what did the lass say?”

Sarah looks between the two nervously before replying, “she just said that Mr. MacKenzie has eyes for that red-headed Scot and started a bet about when courting will begin.”

“Oh!” Geillis says with a laugh, “when are people betting on?”

She rubs the back of her neck with a sheepish smile and replies, “I said by summer.”

Claire and Geillis laugh, leaning into each other while Sarah shakes her head at the pair. Claire sits up and wipes at her eyes, “I truly hope it does so Sarah wins the bet.”

Sarah blushes, “mistr- Claire, I didn’t mean any disrespect-“

“Lass,” Geillis interrupts, “truly, dinna fash, I’m quite excited to see how this plays out. Maybe you’ll win the bet, though,” she glances at Claire, “you may have to bring us in on it.”

Claire frantically shakes her head, “oh no, I’m staying far away from you and Mr. MacKenzie. Keep me out of it.”

“Well, hen,” Geillis grins at her, winking at Sarah before focusing on Claire again, “you may not be able to stay out of it, considering the wee fox cub from last night.”

“Fox cub?” Claire responds, confused, “do you mean Jamie?”

“Obviously, I mean Jamie,” she responds with a laugh, “he is Dougal’s nephew, ye ken. Dougal mentioned they started workin’ together a year ago, said he’s very loyal.”

Claire finishes her tea and places the cup on the silver tray, “well, loyalty is important.” She stands up, grabs her dressing gown from the foot of her bed and wraps it tightly around her. “Though, I’m not sure why you’re telling me this.” She finishes with a raised eyebrow at Geillis.

Sarah clears her throat, capturing Claire’s attention and asks, “would you prefer blue or green today? It is the beginning of February and with spring around the corner, I felt that your green dress and the pink cloche would be perfect today. Perhaps blue if you’d like to keep with winter.”

With a smile, Claire says, “I like your thinking, Sarah. I’ll do green today, though I think we should do the light pink stockings rather than the green.” She removes the dressing gown and her sleeping clothes, stepping out into the open to slip into the dress, “do you happen to know if Marian had time to clean my maroon wool overcoat? I remember it had that wretched jam stain and I was hoping to wear it while Geillis and I visited Joe today.”

Sarah slips the dress over Claire’s head and adjust the fabric over her shoulders before tying the waist ribbon, “I believe so. I saw it hanging on the line yesterday, so I suggest checking with her before leaving.” She looks towards Geillis, “would you like me to ring Anna for you? She should have been by already to help you dress; mother doesn’t like us shirking our duties.”

Geillis shakes her head, “dinna fash, hen. I told Anna I’d manage on my own, though I recognize a dismissal when I see one.” She walks over to Claire and kisses her cheek, “I’ll meet you in the dining room for breakfast.” She opens the bedroom door and moves into the hallway, “have fun you two!” she calls before shutting the door behind her, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

“I apologize if she flustered you,” Claire says to Sarah as she sits down at her vanity table, turning to face the mirror. She puts her hands in the bowl of cold water, cleaning her face to help with the creases and waking up, and pats her skin dry.

Sarah shakes her head, “she didn’t. It seemed like you were getting flustered with the mentions of your Jamie.”

Claire laughs and picks up her brass hairbrush, “well, he’s not my Jamie, I assure you.” She starts to pull the brush through her hair before pausing, “though… something about him,” she trails off before shaking her head with a small smile, “I’ll just say that I would not mind seeing him again.”

Sarah takes the brush from her hand and begins gentling detangling her curls, “what about Mr. Randall? He frequently calls on you.”

With a sigh, Claire says, “yes but he is dreadfully dull. He was with us last night, you know, but I cannot remember a single word he said but I can remember everything from Jamie. Is that wrong of me? I know Frank sought to ask for my hand.”

“There is nothing wrong with that,” Sarah replies with a shake of her head, “my mother always told Anna and I that, in matters of the heart, it is important to listen rather than just see. You may see Randall in front of you but what do you hear?”

“Nothing,” Claire laughs, “well, perhaps a faint buzzing but it would be a stable marriage. I would want for nothing.”

“You want for nothing now, dear,” Sarah says, “your uncle makes sure of that. Do you want dull and stable?” She sets the brush down, running her hands through Claire’s hair to check for more tangles. She grabs the oil from the vanity and pours some into her hands, rubbing it into Claire’s hair and twisting the curls around her fingers to tame them, as her friend Gail taught her.

“Well, Lamb certainly likes him.”

“Lamb’s not the one that would have to live with him,” Sarah replies, clipping some of Claire’s curls back from her face before fanning the curls out around her shoulders. “You are not betrothed yet so ask yourself, what do you want?”

Claire looks at herself through the mirror, “I’m not sure what I want.”

Sarah shakes her head, “that’s a lie.” She grabs the pink hat from Claire’s wardrobe and places it on her head, adjusting a few curls beneath it to frame Claire’s face before removing the hat and placing it in Claire’s lap.

“I want,” their eyes meet in the mirror and they share a smile, “something exciting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for this chapter being so short! I'm not very good at the beginning of stories but I promise 3 and 4 are much longer and 4 is where things start picking up. I know Claire having servants may sound strange but just trust me. Thank you for your kind responses to chapter 1 and I hope you love this chapter and are as excited as I am :)


	3. Chapter 3

Claire walks down the large stone staircase, the sound of pans clanging together drifts from the kitchen and Geillis’s laughter rings out. She moves down the hall to the family dining room and pushes the door open, taking in the sight of Uncle Lamb sitting at the head of the long table, newspaper in one hand and a sugar cube in the other. He drops the cube in the mug of tea in front of him, picks up the small spoon, and slowly stirs the tea, never taking his eyes off the newspaper. He looks up and makes eye contact with Claire, a wide smile gracing his lips, “well if it isn’t my little English rose!”

She laughs and makes her way over to the seat on his right and sits down, places her hat on her lap, and leans over to kiss his whiskered cheek before reaching for the teapot on the table. “Did you sleep well?” she asks, grabbing a cup and pouring the aromatic tea into the porcelain.

He folds the newspaper up and places it in front of him, “I did but there is something I was hoping to speak with you about, perhaps get your opinion on.”

“Oh?” Claire questions, dropping a sugar cube in her own tea and slowly stirring it before taking a sip, “what about?”

“Do you remember John?” Lamb questions, removing his reading glasses and placing them on the table before picking up his other glasses and slipping them on.

“The one who works in city hall or the one at the steel mill?” she responds, taking another sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving Lamb’s face.

“The one at city hall,” at Claire’s nod, he continues, “I had a lunch meeting with him a few days ago and he mentioned the rise in unemployment. Since there is plenty of space here, I thought we could hire more people to work here.”

“Lamb, what about the people we have now? I’m not comfortable ordering them around and I’m not sure how I would do with new servants.” Claire replies.

“Well, don’t view them as servants,” he replies, “I know it is just not possible to solve unemployment, but we do have plenty of space.”

“And it would prevent more people from falling into a life of crime,” Claire finishes and Lamb smiles at her. “It’s not a bad idea, though I hope you won’t be the only one conducting these interviews.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “heavens no. Firouz and Ida will be aiding me, and they’re both very supportive of this idea. I do think it will give Sarah and Anna more time to be young without the guilt of ‘shirking their duties’.”

Claire nods, “you’re right, it would be a good idea. I trust Firouz to pick wonderful people.”

Lamb laughs, “you and me both, my dear.”

Geillis wanders into the dining room and says with a bow, “breakfast is served.” She laughs and takes the seat next to a giggling Claire and grabs the cloth napkin next to her plate, spreading it onto her lap. “I helped with the eggs.”

“Well I’ll be sure to avoid those,” Lamb says with a chuckle, dodging the sugar cube thrown his way, before looking up at the new arrivals to the dining room. “Everyone, please sit.”

Firouz takes the seat next to Lamb, followed by Ida, Sarah, and Anna. Charles places serving plates of eggs, bacon, and sausages on the table while Richard places a plate of toast and a pitcher of orange juice before taking their seats on the other side of Geillis, leaving the mismatched family on one half of the table. Marian following quickly with the forgotten butter and a pot of coffee, taking her seat next to her husband Richard. It’s quiet for just a moment before Lamb says, “pass the eggs, dear,” to Anna and breakfast officially begins.

* * *

“What are you plans today, you two?” Lamb asks Claire and Geillis as the breakfast dishes are cleaned up.

Claire picks up her hat and says, “we’re going to visit Joe at his bookstore in Harlem. Do you need anything while we’re out?” Claire questions before standing up.

Lamb hums before saying, “a copy of _Oak and Ivy_ would be delightful. Do you need any money?”

She shakes her head before leaning down to his cheek, “I do have a job, Lamb, but no, I have enough. I should be home this evening, Joe mentioned wanting to go to the pictures. Apparently, The Phantom of the Opera’s playing and he heard it’s good.” She says before placing her hat on her head and walking to the front door with Geillis. She slips on her pumps, puts on her maroon fur-lined coat and black gloves, and pulls open the large front door, stepping out on the snow-covered walkway. Geillis pulls the door closed behind them and slips her arm through Claire’s, her pale face becoming pink from the cold.

“We should use your car more, hen,” she says with a laugh.

“Perhaps but I do love taxis,” Claire replies, “they feel like an important part of the city.” She finishes before stepping out into the road and waving down the passing taxi, who pulls over to the sidewalk. She pulls up the door and gestures Geillis to get in, following behind her and shutting the door. Leaning forward, she says to the driver, “1942 Amsterdam Avenue, please.”

The driver raises an eyebrow, “are you sure Harlem is a bright idea, doll? It ain’t too safe over there, these days.”

“We’ll be quite alright, thank you,” she says firmly, sitting back in her seat with an eyeroll as Geillis scoffs at the driver’s words. The ride goes by in near silence, jazz playing softly from the radio, while honks from other drivers echo in the busy streets. A man dressed as St. Nick walks down the crowded sidewalk, ringing a bell and calling for donations for the local soup kitchen; a few women drop some coins in while he nods his head in thanks. Banners advertising new bicycles, handbags, and coats line the buildings they pass with slogans like “get the boy what he wants!”, while children press their faces against the windows of a candy store while their mothers eye the displays next door. The taxi pulls on to Amsterdam Avenue and it’s easy to say the difference between Manhattan and Harlem, how people try to pretend this part of the city doesn’t exist and that segregation isn’t thriving in the north. The driver pulls up outside of the building and stops, “that’ll be a dollar sixty, doll.”

Claire nods and hands him two dollars, “keep the change.” She gets out and pulls Geillis along with her. “Why must all men be so petrified of what’s different from them? Did you see the look on his face when I gave the address?”

Geillis shakes her head, “times may be changing but I dinna think they’ll ever change enough.” She pushes open the door of the bookstore, the bell ringing out in the empty room, and the two women walk in after kicking the snow off their shoes. Claire takes her gloves off and shoves them in her coat pocket before she unbuttons her coat and looks around at the shelves of books while a voice calls from somewhere in the back, “one moment!” She removes her coat and hangs it on the hook by the door before removing her hat and placing it next to it. Geillis does the same while Claire walks forward, running her finger along the spines of the novels in front of her. The books stretch out in front of her, leading to carpeted steps in the back of the room, surrounded by wood paneling and bright lights. The tops of the walls are painted an emerald green and are lined with portraits of black men and women of all ages, some flaking with age, while others look fresh as a daisy.

The sound of footsteps echo behind her and she turns around to see a tall black man, wearing a dark blue pinstriped suit with a handkerchief tucked into the breast pocket, with a wide grin making his way over to her, “Lady Jane!” he calls before wrapping his arms around her in a hug, briefly lifting her off the ground, the wood floor creaking beneath them. She laughs and hugs him back before he turns to Geillis and says with a laugh, “and the local red witch!” he brings her into a hug before releasing her and stepping back. “What brings the two of you to my neck of the woods?”

“We said we’d visit, Joe,” Claire says with a smile, rolling her eyes at her friend, “have you forgotten already, old man?”

“I’m three years older than you, LJ,” he replies with a pointed look before chuckling, “I figured it would be tomorrow! I heard about your run in with the fuzz last night from Georgie, that man ain’t ever kept a secret.” He gestures for them to follow him and they make their way up the carpeted staircase to a small sitting area around a blazing brick fireplace. A red Persian rug sits beneath the couch and armchairs, protecting their feet from the slightly chilled floor while the fire warms the air.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s a secret. Geillis did most of the work,” Claire replies as she sits down in a plush blue armchair, crossing her legs in front of her and smiling up at Joe.

“You should’ve seen the look on our English rose’s face, Joe,” Geillis says, laughing, as she sits down in the armchair next to Claire, “it looked like she was waiting to be clipped by those mugs!” She stretches her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankle, and leans back in the seat, settling into the cushion.

Joe chuckles as he walks to the coffeepot, “and you didn’t invite me? Should I be offended,” he jokes, pouring three cups of coffee into old mugs he got back in Boston before the move to New York City a few years ago. He drops a few sugar cubes and a dollop of cream in Geillis’s, leaves Claire’s black, and drops some sugar in his before taking the three mugs to his friends, handing them out and settling on the empty couch.

Claire shakes her head, “you truly didn’t miss anything. Besides, how often do you need to see me?” She asks with a smile, nudging Joe with her elbow, and takes a sip of the warm java.

“You, LJ? Well, all the time,” he replies with a grin, making Claire laugh, and drinks his own coffee before looking over to Geillis. “And you, I thought you went to see your parents?”

The redhead shakes her head and says, “Da felt that with the unrest in Scotland, it wouldnae be wise to visit. We’re planning for the summer, instead.” She takes a drink, “though, just between us, I dinna ken if it will be calm by then. I’ve been trying t’ get them here but,” she shrugs, unsure of the best way to explain her parent’s refusal.

Claire nods understandingly, “I’m sure it’s the same reason you refused initially,” taking a drink, she thinks for a moment before continuing, “Lamb keeps in touch with Mr. Duncan and he mentioned something about problems with the new communist party. Perhaps they want to see if things calm down before making a decision that big?”

Geillis nods slowly, “it’s possible, I ken I was stubborn enough for all o’ us though,” she laughs and sets her cup on the small table in front of the couch. “But enough about me. Joe, how is the bookstore?”

“Well, business as usual, I guess,” he responds with a shrug of his shoulders, “not many people want to shop at a black-owned bookstore, but I have some loyal customers.”

“What about the trumpet?” Claire asks, leaning forward, “Lamb is still pushing for you to perform at the Valentine's Day fundraiser at the hospital in two weeks.”

He reaches for the pack of cigarettes sitting on the table and opens it, grabbing one and putting it back on the table, “I don’t feel right taking your uncle’s money, lady jane, you know that.” He lights the cigarette and sits it in his mouth, taking a drag as he watches the gears turn in Claire’s head.

She nods slowly then smiles, “well… don’t think of it like Lamb’s money, think of it as the hospital’s money, and the hospital,” she emphasizes, “will pay you handsomely for your time.”

“And what about the white folk that’ll be there?” Joe questions with a smile and a raised eyebrow, “I don’t think the donors will take kindly to me being there.”

“Well,” Claire starts with a roll of her eyes, “if they have any problems with it, they can take it up with me, Geillis and I will gladly show them the door. I can assure you that the hospital will not take any of their donations. Besides, you’re far too talented to stay holed up in the bookstore, Joe, even if you’re starting with a hospital fundraiser.”

Geillis leans forward and takes a cigarette from Joe’s pack on the table, lighting it with a match before tossing the stick in the fire and putting the cigarette in her mouth, “Joe, if anyone says anything, ye ken I will personally clip ‘em.” She says, causing Claire to swat at her with a laugh.

“I’ll think about it, you two,” he chuckles, “I’m just not sure that your uncle understands the social ramifications of what you’re proposing, LJ. It’s not just a performance, it’s making a statement that some people might not appreciate.”

She leans forward and places a hand on Joe’s arm, “and we’ll deal with the consequences, should they happen, but I’m confident that this will be wonderful.”

Joe shakes his head with a smile, “you’ll get a maybe out of me, right now.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Claire says with a nod and a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is our introduction to Joe and his friendship with Geillis and Claire, the next chapter is what Jamie's been up to! The story's not completely written out so if you have any ideas for things you'd like to see happen in the story, feel free to type it out down below and I'd love to read them :) beyond that, let me know what you think and have a wonderful day/night!


	4. Chapter 4

_Now, darling reader, you must be wondering what our dear Jamie Fraser is doing while Claire and her friends take in a show at The Lafayette Theater. Or, perhaps, what he was doing earlier in the day, the morning after that fateful meeting? I will happily tell you, of course, but do keep in mind that our Jamie is… well, he’s in a tight spot._

February 1, 1925: 3 PM

Jamie’s walking down the sidewalks of lower Manhattan, snow crunching beneath his feet and eyes rapidly scanning the faces of each woman he passes even though he knows it’s not likely he will find her. He doesn’t know her name or where she works, he knows nothing except her face and the way her voice made his wame flip. ‘Of course,’ he thinks despondently to himself, ‘she could just be visiting Manhattan and I’ve missed her already.’ With a sigh, he pushes his sleeve up and glances at his silver Cartier tank watch, making a quick note of the time, and flags down a coming taxi.

“158 East Houston Street, please,” Jamie says, pulling the door shut behind him and settling back in his seat. The city passes by in a snow-covered blur as Jamie gets lost with the fairies, thoughts settling on the brown-haired lass he spoke with the night before. The way her gold dress sat perfectly on her frame and how she didn’t hesitate to tease him. In the business he’s in, people respect you the moment you meet them, but they’re scared because they know you could end them in a moment, not that he ever would. But she wasn’t scared, she looked him in the eye and spoke to him as any other person. Hell, she even flirted with him, and that’s got to mean something in this place. If only he could find her.

They pull up outside the restaurant and Jamie hands the driver money before quickly thanking him and getting out, shutting the door behind him. He looks up at the brick building in front of him and takes in the hand painted sign adorning the front and the small pine branches lining the large windows and door. Walking up the three steps and pushing open the wood door, he enters the restaurant and allows the door to fall shut behind him, cutting off the freezing air from entering the warm building. A fire crackles to the right where a group of rowdy men play a game of poker, drinking whiskey straight from the bottle being passed around. He passes the group and goes through the open doorway into a noisy kitchen, filled to the brim with people bustling around preparing for the family’s dinner.

“Jamie!” a short woman with graying hair shouts, making her way over to him with a grin before wrapping her arms around him in a hug. “Ye look like ye could use a hot drink,” she says, walking over to the counter and pouring a steaming beverage in a mug before he could reply. She sprinkles a little cinnamon on the top and hands him the drink, “fresh apple cider.” She gestures to a woman kneading dough in the corner, “my granddaughter, Laoghaire, made it this morning. I dinna ken if ye remember her from when ye were bairns but her da sent her here and she arrived yesterday.”

Jamie smiles and nods at her, taking a sip of the warm cider, “I’m sorry Mrs. Fitz, I canna say I do. Though, she must be a lovely lass if she’s related to ye.”

Mrs. Fitz laughs and light pushes Jamie towards the stairwell, “Himself is waiting upstairs for ye, better not keep him waiting.”

He chuckles and carries his drink upstairs with him, the wood flooring creaking beneath his weight as he walks down the hall to Colum’s meeting room. He pushes the door open and steps into the room, greeted by four men staring in his direction, all with various expressions on their faces. The room itself, though, is one to be discussed. The room itself is long to make room for the long oak table situated in the middle and is decorated in dark wood paneling and a deep red carpet, the only light in the room comes from Edwardian style silver wall sconces adorning the walls about every two feet while a small painting sits in between each sconce. A large desk sits pressed against the wall by the door, a bookcase on each side, with a large ledger sitting open on it and a small pen laying to the side of the book. The long table stretches towards the window with twelve chairs surrounding it, five chairs on each long side and one at both ends.

Colum MacKenzie sits at the head of the table, the seat closest to the door Jamie just came through, with a note pad open in front of him and a glass of whiskey in his left hand. Dougal MacKenzie stands behind his right shoulder, arms crossed over his chest, an impatient expression on his face. Rupert MacKenzie sits to the right of Colum while Angus Mhor sits in the seat to the left. Jamie sits next to Angus, places his mug on the table, and looks to Colum, “what’s going on, Uncle?”

Colum places his whiskey on the table and leans forward, glancing at the three men sitting around the table, “we have a shipment of the best whiskey coming in from back home tonight at the docks. Rupert,” he glances at him, “I want ye to go ahead with Willie to the hand-off point, behind the large warehouse at the harbor, take the smaller truck out back. Angus and Jamie, I want ye two to follow behind in the bigger truck and keep an eye on everything, the cops have been paid off so ye shouldn’t have any trouble from them. Grab a piece from Dougal and head out after supper.” Colum finishes, taking a sip from his whiskey and crossing a line off the notepad in front of him.

Rupert gets up and gestures for Angus and Jamie to follow him before leaving the room. Glancing quickly at each other, two men get up and follow behind Rupert, Jamie closing the door softly behind them. Rupert leads the way down the stairs and past the kitchens, to a small storeroom off the main dining area and shuts the door behind them. He turns to face them and says, “something doesna feel right.”

Angus shakes his head, “you’ve overthinking, Rupert. It’ll be fine.”

“No,” Jamie interrupts, rubbing his chin, “Rupert’s right. Colum made it sound too easy. I dinna have a good feeling about this.”

Angus shrugs, “well, we can’t really do anything except go to the meet point and see what happens.”

Rupert nods slowly, “normally Colum gives a warning a few days in advance but something happening tonight? No, it’s more than whiskey.”

“What else could it be?” Jamie questions, “Colum doesn’t deal in dope. I do his paperwork, and nothing has been off.”

“Have either of ye heard anything at the Cotton Club last night?” Rupert asks the two men, “anything that might point towards what could be happening?”

Jamie shakes his head but Angus speaks up, “near the dancers, I heard somethin’ about a Joe Masseria and wanting control of New York City?”

“Is there a war coming?” Rupert asks with wide eyes.

“Not yet,” Jamie says, “I’ll keep my eye to the ground but with Colum’s contacts we’d be well informed of anything breaking out.”

“Unless Colum wants to keep it from us,” Angus states.

Rupert shakes his head, “that wouldn’t make sense since we would have to fight.” He pauses, “maybe Dougal would ken?”

“Before any of us jumps the gun,” Jamie interrupts, putting his hands up, “we need to listen. We can’t start a conspiracy, that would not reflect well on Colum.” He thinks for a moment and slowly nods his head, “alright, I have a plan.” Gaining the two men’s attention, Jamie continues, “we need to keep this to ourselves, but we can do some investigating. Angus, ask around at the cathouse, see what ye can find. Rupert, pay attention to the drunkards, they might say something that will tell us what’s happening. Until we gather enough information, we’ll do what we’re told. Okay?”

Both men nod in agreement and leave the storeroom.

February 1, 1925: 9 PM

The moon’s high in the sky filled with stars and Jamie’s fingers are tight around the steering wheel in the hidden truck, tapping a staccato rhythm against the metal. As soon as the hand on his watch moves over to 9 PM, he turns the key in the ignition and starts the large truck. He turns left on to the dirt road and leaves the hiding place tucked in the trees, slowly pulling into the docks smelling of rotting fish and blood. He pulls up next to a stack of crates and turns off the engine, making brief eye contact with Angus before grabbing the handgun off the seat and getting out of the truck. Except for the cawing of birds and the waves breaking against the shore, the docks are eerily silent. They walk forward with their guns at their sides, looking around the empty area for Rupert and Willie.

“They’re supposed to be behind the warehouse loading up the booze,” Angus whispers cautiously, slinging a duffle bag over his shoulder, before chuckling softly, “hey maybe they’re already drunk.”

Jamie chuckles, takes a deep breath of the crisp air, and shrugs, “dinna think so, Rupert’s more careful than that.”

“Oh hey,” Angus says, nudging Jamie, “I saw you with that dame at the Cotton Club last night.”

Jamie looks sideways at him and asks, “is this really the right time to ask me about that?”

He waves his hand, unconcerned, “dinna fash, Jamie, we’ve got it under control. I’m just saying,” he shrugs, “be careful. Ye can’t talk about this stuff at home. What are ye gonna say,” he walks forward a little and turns around to face Jamie, “’evening doll, had a hell of a day at work, had to kill ten people!’ knock her right off her feet.” He laughs before turned back around, turning the corner to the back of the warehouse before pausing.

“Dammit,” Jamie says, crouching down to the dirt, looking for the tire tracks of the truck.

“Rupert should be waiting here,” Angus trails off, looking around. He nudges Jamie with his foot, causing the other man to look at him and stand up, “look, I’ll wait here and keep an eye out, maybe Rupert’s late. Ye should creep ahead and check things out.”

Jamie rolls his eyes, “och, ye trying to get me clipped?”

Angus chuckles and unzips the duffle bag, “here take this toy with you.” He hands him a large shotgun before leaning against the wall of the warehouse and taking out a pack of cigarettes. “Shout if you need me,” he says, popping a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it.

The redhead shakes his head and walks forward, looking around at the crates stacked haphazardly on the concrete. He walks a large path, footsteps crunching the loose gravel beneath his feet and finds small warehouses abandoned along the sides of the path. He tries the doors of each one, finding them locked before moving on to the next. At the end of the path, in front of a large warehouse, is the missing truck with a sleeping Willie behind the wheel. Jamie walks forward and pounds on the door, “hey Willie! Wake up!” he laughs before pulling on the door handle, “have you see-“ he cuts himself off as he pulls the door open and Willie falls into his arms, blood staining the front of his suit.

“Christ!” he shouts, pulling Willie the rest of the way out and laying him on the ground, he presses his fingers against Willie’s neck, desperately looking for a pulse in his cold skin, when the sound of footsteps comes from the other side of the truck. He looks up as two armed men in black suits come around the corner and stand in front of him.

“Red Jamie?” the one on the right asks before using his gun to gesture to Willie, “seems your friend has fallen ill. Better get out of here, it might be contagious.”

Jamie grabs his dropped shotgun off the ground and stands up slowly, warm blood coating his fingers, “do I know you?”

The man on the right shakes his head, “No, but Mr. Masseria,” he cocks his shotgun, “would like to inform you that we’ll be taking over the duties here.” He aims at Jamie but before he can pull the trigger, Jamie fires at him and ducks behind a nearby crate, bullets rapidly hitting the wall behind him. He crouches and looks up over the crate, eyes focusing on the other man as he reloads his weapon, Jamie aims his shotgun at the man and takes a deep breath, pulling the trigger without another thought. The man drops to the ground and he takes off down the walkway, finding Angus making his way over already.

“Jamie! I heard gunfire,” he starts.

“Willie’s dead,” Jamie interrupts.

“What?!”

“Willie,” Jamie gestures behind him, “in the truck, Masseria’s men got him.”

Angus shakes his head, “fuck,” he looks at Jamie, “what about Rupert? Did ye see him?”

“No,” Jamie starts, turning around and walking back towards the truck, “but there was a warehouse behind the truck, he might be there.”

Angus nods and follows behind Jamie to the warehouse doors, both attempting to pull on them to no avail, “we can’t leave him here, Jamie.”

“I know,” he looks around quickly, “alright, stay here. I’m going around back,” he creeps down the side of the building, back pressed to the concrete as he walks until he comes to a small entrance on the far side of the building. He tries the doorknob to find it locked and peaks through the window, finding it thankfully empty, before standing directly in front of the door and aiming his shotgun in the place in the small place between the door and the frame. He pulls the trigger, and the lock shoots off, the door slowly opening from the force. He holds the gun in front of him as he walks in, coughing from the dust and swinging around the stacked crates as he looks for his friend.

“Rupert?” he whispers, the sound echoing in the large building as he creeps forward. “Are ye in here?”

A soft clang comes from the far corner of the warehouse and Jamie cautiously makes his way over, that is, until Rupert’s voice rings out, “Jamie! Over here!”

He runs over and finds Rupert laying on the ground with his back resting against the wall and his hands pressed against a bleeding wound in his stomach. “Christ man,” Jamie says before kneeling in front of Rupert and ripping his suit jacket off, pressing it against the wound. “Are ye hurt anywhere else?”

He shakes his head, “no but this feckin hurts.”

Jamie snorts, “I should think so,” he looks around, “can ye walk?” At Rupert’s nod, he helps him stand and puts Rupert’s arm over his shoulders, “Angus is waiting outside but we need t’ hurry.” He helps Rupert walk to the doors of the warehouse before leaning him against a stack of crates and shooting the lock of the doors. He pushes them open and whispers for Angus who quickly appears from the other side of the truck, face lighting up at the sight of Rupert.

“Ye look like shite, man,” he says with a laugh.

Rupert groans, “dinna make me laugh.”

Before they can enter the truck, the sound of squealing tires echoes in the cold air and four black cars drift around the corner and speed down the alleyway. Jamie drags Rupert inside, Angus following closely, and yanks the doors shut.

“Angus, get Rupert upstairs! I’ll cover you,” Jamie shouts, swinging around to face the door as the shouts get louder “Now!”

Angus drags Rupert up the metal stairs, a trail of blood leaving the floor slick as Jamie follows, carefully walking backwards up the stairs with his gun trained on the large doors.

_Reeeeeeeeeeeeee_ the doors are dragged upon with a harsh creak, causing a shiver down Jamie’s spine and the hair on his arms to stand on end. His hands are steady though and his aim doesn’t waver for a second.

Angus pulls Rupert around a corner and leans him against the wooden wall, “ye good?”

“I’ve had worse,” Rupert chuckles before groaning, “ye remember ’21?”

“That wasn’t a gun shot.”

“No but stab wounds fecking hurt!”

Angus drops a handgun in Rupert’s lap and stands up next to Jamie, “you take right?”

Jamie looks sideways at him and gives a quick note, “you go left.”

They split up, Angus making his way down the wood walkway next to Rupert, going to the end of the building closest to the doors, and Jamie walks down the landing, standing behind the metal railings, staring down the men entering. The enemy men fill the building, spreading out and looking in all directions.

“Come out, boys! You’re only making this harder for yourselves,” the man standing in the center of the warehouse shouts, his gun pointed up and resting on his shoulder.

Angus looks at Jamie, waiting for his signal. Jamie holds his left hand in the air, silently telling Angus to wait, and slowly places his shotgun on the floor, the metal creaking slightly beneath him. He grabs his pistol from his waistband and aims at the loudmouth in the center of the room. He flicks the safety off.

“Hey boss, I foun-“

The loudmouth makes eye contact with him.

He fires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone motivate me to write this lmao I have no motivation and I'm trying to convince myself to keep writing  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!! :)


	5. Chapter 5

Claire arrives home at 10:30 at night, Geillis having decided to return to the Cotton Club in search of Dougal, sets the book for Uncle Lamb on the stand next to the door, kicks the door shut behind her, and takes off her coat, hanging it in the closet next to the staircase and places her hat on the hook by the door. She takes off her black oxfords and sits them on the floor underneath her coat before walking back to the door and picking up the book, she turns on her heel and makes her way down the entryway to Lamb’s office, the dark wood flooring cold underneath her bare feet. 

_Bzzzzzzz_

She pauses.

_Bzzzz bzzzzz bzzzzzz bzzzzzz_

“Right,” she says to herself, “who rings the doorbell that much at ten o’clock,” she shakes her head and walks to the door, pointing her finger to Sarah who had made her way to the hall, “sit back down! I’m perfectly capable of answering the door _and_ I saw you reading in the sitting room.” The doorbell buzzing incessantly in the background, faint cries of “ _help_ ” drifting through the wood.

Sarah gives a mocking curtsy and laughs before making her way back to the sitting room, book still in hand. Claire walks to the door, brushes her hands down her skirt, and pulls open the door, but before she can get a word in, the short man with the full beard speaks up.

“Good evening, mistress,” he says, “we’re looking for a Doctor Beauchamp. Is he home?”

Claire slowly nods, eyes scanning the man in front of her, his hands stained with blood, “yes, he is. One moment,” she closes the door and turns around, finding Lamb making his way down the hall towards her with a skip in his step.

“I came to see who was making that racket with the doorbell,” he says with a grin towards her.

“What a coincidence,” she says with a laugh, “it’s for you.”

He raises an eyebrow, “a doctor’s visit?” At her nod, he continues, “at ten PM?”

She shrugs and gestures to the door, “I’d say it’s important though.”

He nods and opens the door, eyes widening as he takes in the sight in front of him, “Angus, what are you doing here so late? Another fight at the cathouse?”

Angus shakes his head rapidly, “sorry doc but we, uh,” he glances at Claire standing to the left of Lamb, “had an accident.” He turns to the side, revealing a strangely familiar figure dragging a seemingly bloody man up the sidewalk to the front door.

“Good lord!” Lamb exclaims, rushing forward as if to examine the man before pausing and turning to Angus, “take him to the dining room. We’ll need enough space.” He turns with a shout of “Marian!” and rushes down the hall.

Angus nods, lifts the other arm of the bloodied man, and puts it over his shoulder before tugging him down the hall. Claire follows quickly after shutting and bolting the door.

“Are you sure this man isn’t just a butcher?” the taller man whispers to Angus, much to the surprise of Claire.

“Excuse me,” Claire interrupts before moving forward and pulling the doors to the dining room open, “I’ll have you know my uncle is the best doctor in New York. I would say the country if he weren’t so humble,” she says with anger, glaring at the three figures before moving aside and allowing them to drag the man fully into the room. She pushes the tablecloth aside and gestures for them to place him on the table before pulling the double doors shut, the latch clicking into place. The room falls into darkness before she presses the button on the wall, filling the room with white light.

She moves around the room, pulling the chairs away from the table and pushes them against the wall while the man with the beard tends to the man on the table and the other stills with eyes trained on her. She slows to a stop, her heart pounding in her chest, as she turns to him, eyes scanning his familiar face, his name flashing in her tired mind, as he drinks her in, eyes bright with recognition. Before she can whisper it, her uncle barges in with his surgery bag, Marian right on his heels with a bag of rags hanging on her arm, a medium sized bowl tucked against her side, and a large bowl of steaming water in her hands.

Claire pushes the old drink cart next to the table as Lamb makes his way over, setting his medical bag on the table and pushing it open. Marian sets the bowls and the bag of rags next to him and rushes back through the doors, pulling them shut behind and clicking the lock in place. Angus looks up in surprise and glances towards the door.

“To keep people out,” Lamb says, glancing up at Angus before looking at his tools, organizing them on the cart, “Marian will stand guard but just in case.” He grabs the smaller bowl from the table and sets it on the cart before grabbing a glass bottle of isopropyl alcohol from his bag and pouring it into the bowl. He dips his hands in the bowl before picking up the tools and setting them in the alcohol, then leans over Rupert and presses his ear to his chest, listening to the rattle in his lungs.

“Claire,” he says, looking up at her, “we’re doing a tracheotomy. His airway needs to stay clear.” He grabs a rag from the bag and pours chloroform on it, setting it firmly on Rupert’s nose and mouth, and watches as he relaxes. “If he starts waking during the surgery,” Lamb says, looking towards Angus standing next to Rupert’s head, “put this back on his face. He can’t move.” At Angus’s nod, he looks towards Claire who hands him a small scalpel, Jamie and Angus standing on the other side of the table with wide eyes and pale faces. Lamb takes the scalpel and makes a small incision in Rupert’s throat, cutting into the trachea, a small trail of blood streams down the side of his neck while Claire hands a small tube to her uncle, watching as he slides it neatly into the incision to allow Rupert to breathe easier.

“Okay,” he mumbles to himself, wiping his hands on his apron before taking the scissors off the cart and cutting through the sleeves and down the center of Rupert’s shirt, the fabric revealing the small bullet wound in his abdomen. He peers at the bullet wound through the glasses perched on the end of his nose, the end of the bullet glinting in the bright light. “Forceps,” he says, sticking his hand out as Claire places the tool in his palm.

* * *

The surgery continues for another hour as Lamb carefully examines the wound for any internal injuries. Finding none, he stitches the wound closed and covers it with gauze and cloths before dipping his hands in the alcohol and wiping them off. Claire walks to the door and knocks lightly on it, the sound of the door unlocking echoes in the quiet room.

“Gentlemen,” Lamb begins, “I need to properly wash my hands, but we can discuss where to go from here when I return.” He gestures to the chairs, “please make yourself at home.” He exits the makeshift surgery and turns left towards the kitchens while Claire begins methodically cleaning the tools, humming a jazzy tune softly to herself.

As she’s setting the damp instruments aside to dry them, another pair of hands join hers, picking each tool up and carefully drying them. She spares a glance up, spots red hair, and smiles, her heart rate picking up in her chest. She picks the next tool up, dips it into the alcohol, and says, “Jamie Fraser.”

He looks sideways at her and grins, “here I was afraid ye’d forgotten me.”

She laughs, the sound warming his bones, “now how could I forget a face like that?”

Jamie chuckles and takes the dripping tool from her extended hand, “though ye seem ta have me at a disadvantage, Sassenach. I dinna remember yer name.”

She quirks an eyebrow at his odd choice of nickname before responding with, “good news, soldier, I didn’t give it to you, though my uncle did say it earlier if you were paying attention.”

“I was but I would much rather hear it from you,” he places the final tool in the bag and turns to face her, a teasing grin on his face, “how am I supposed to take ye to the pictures if I dinna have a name?”

She faces him with a barely noticeable blush darkening her cheeks at his words, “the pictures, huh?”

“Well, I did find you.”

“Accidentally,” she gestures towards the table where Rupert lays, pale and shirtless, “seems your friend here did most of the work.”

Angus speaks up from the spot he’d taken by the door, standing guard of the room and its occupants, “and I suggested Doctor Beauchamp. Ye dinna do any work, Red.”

Claire raises her eyebrows at Jamie, eyes wide with delight, “Red? Earned yourself a nickname, huh?”

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, or perhaps shamefully Claire notes, his eyes downcast, “not much of a nickname. More, an observation.”

She looks back at Angus, hoping for an explanation. One he happily provides before Jamie can stop him.

“It’s for how many m-“

The doors open and Uncle Lamb steps through, bloodied apron removed and his hands clean, he claps his hands together and smiles, “now, gentleman, Rupert here can’t move for at least another day. The swelling needs to go down before I can remove the tracheal tube. Any movement afterwards needs to be careful.”

Jamie nods, rapidly absorbing the new information, “will he remain on the table?”

Lamb shakes his head, “there’s a small sitting room on this floor where he may be moved, though it needs to be done slowly and carefully. We do not want either incision to be jostled too much.”

Angus and Jamie carefully lift Rupert off the table, supporting his neck and head, and follow Uncle Lamb down the hall to a hardly used out of the way sitting room, Claire following while supporting Rupert’s legs. Lamb pushes the door open and leads the way into the room, gesturing towards the floor, “it sounds awful but putting him on the floor will allow for more support to his injuries. The sofa is far too small to be safe.” The men nod and, with Claire’s help, slowly lay Rupert on the rug.

“When will he wake up, doc?” Angus asks, laying Rupert’s arms at his side and standing up.

“It depends,” Lamb replies, “his body is trying to heal from the wound and the surgery, the best way to do that is to sleep. It could be anywhere from a few hours to a day or two.” He moves to the small cabinet in the room and pulls out a stack of blankets, “his pulse is strong and there weren’t any internal injuries. He will be fine.” He hands Claire the blankets and finishes, “you’re both more than welcome to remain here but I ask that you try to be quiet and don’t bring any,” he glances at Claire quickly before looking back at Jamie, “business here.”

Jamie nods, “I will personally make sure that nothing happens here, doctor. You have my word.”

With a stern scrutinizing look, Lamb turns and kisses Claire’s temple, “yell if you need me, sweet pea.”

She laughs and nudges him, “if you can even hear me.”

With a chuckle, he turns and leaves the room, leaving Claire with two strangely nervous looking men and one unconscious man. She kneels on the floor while Angus and Jamie talk in the corner with hushed voices. She lays a blanket across Rupert’s legs and pulls it up just passed his hips, leaving his wound uncovered for easier access to check the bandages. A few minutes of whispered conversation go by when Angus walks to the door and bids Claire goodnight, softly shutting the door behind him as leaves, leaving Jamie and Claire in a somewhat awkward silence.

Jamie moves to sit on the sofa, his fingers tapping lightly on his knee, “is it alright if I stay here? Keep watch?”

Claire nods with a smile, “I would expect nothing less.” She stands slowly and brushes nonexistent dust off her skirt, “would you like me to leave?”

He quickly shakes his head and lightly pats the seat next to him, “please sit. I… I would verra much like ye to stay.”

Her smile softens and she sits next to him, sinking down in the plush cushion, and turns to face him, adjusting her dress around her, “So, Jamie.”

He turns to face her and gestures for her to continue, a small smile on his face by just being in her presence.

“Can you tell me what happened? I’m incredibly curious how a man got shot at ten o’clock at night and why you brought him here instead of the hospital,” she questions, taking the pins carefully out of her hair as she speaks, setting them on her knee.

“Ah,” Jamie sighs, “unfortunately, I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t?” She raises an eyebrow, “or won’t?”

“Both.”

It’s silent between them, the only audible sound being the ticking of the clock next to the window. Claire turns around and places her hairpins on the small table next to the sofa before turning back to Jamie, her face carefully devoid of any emotion.

“It’s not that I dinna want to tell ye,” Jamie quickly tries to reassure.

“I understand,” Claire slowly nods, piecing the little bits of information she has gathered together, “it would be dangerous for both of us if you told me, right?”

He nods, “verra.”

The fragile red cord building between them slowly begins to thicken, tying itself around their very souls as they slowly gravitate inwards.

“How dangerous?”

“Deadly.”

“I could be killed.”

“Possibly.”

A grin slowly starts making its way across her face, “so, the pictures?”

“Tell me your name.”

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

He grins, “How’s tomorrow, Claire?”

“Are you sure you’ll be free?” Her smile bright enough to light the room.

“I’ll be free.”

“Tomorrow it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to make the surgery more detailed but I literally couldn't find any information on removing bullets. But, on another note, rubbing alcohol was used in the 20s but wasn't viewed as an actual sanitation thing until the 40s so I kind of bumped that up a little bit. Anyway, thank you for the kind comments you've all been giving me!!! It definitely helps my motivation <3 I read them all and I'm sorry for not responding, I have awful anxiety and I get paranoid that my responses won't be good enough and I end up just not responding. But thank you all so much and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you think! Are you excited for what's coming?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note before you read this chapter!!   
> In order to keep things somewhat historically accurate, and as canon compliant (as much as possible in an AU), I switched the age difference. Most women were married by 21 while most men were married by 24. As of right now in the story, Claire is 20 and Jamie is 25. I'll explain some more things at the end :) enjoy!

The morning of February 2nd dawned cold but cheerful, with the sound of jazz drifting down the hallway from Geillis’s open doorway, her gifted radio loud in the otherwise quiet morning. Claire’s eyes fluttered open against her will, her eyes taking in the gold trim of her room and the light-colored furniture. She rolls to the left, bringing up her knees and pulling the covers over her head, “why did we buy that for her birthday,” she mumbles to herself, screwing her eyes shut tightly and willing herself to fall back asleep. The minutes on the clock tick by as Claire drifts in and out of consciousness, her heartbeat as steady and calm as her breaths. She yawns and blinks her eyes open, stretching her arms and legs out before turning on to her back and sitting up, the covers pooling on her lap. She rubs her face with one hand and moves her legs over the side of the bed, stands up, and grabs her silk light brown dressing gown off the back of her vanity chair. With her feet tucked in her house slippers and her dressing gown wrapped tightly around her, she walks down the hallway to Geillis’s room and knocks on the door frame, making Geillis jump from her spot by the window.

“Claire!” She calls with a grin, “ye look wonderful this morning.”

Claire rolls her eyes and walks over to the radio, turning the dial slightly to the left, lowering the volume, “it’s too early.”

Geillis raises an eyebrow, “it’s eleven, hen. That’s late for you.”

She blinks, momentarily stunned, “it can’t be eleven. Are you sure?”

The redhead laughs and nods, “I’m verra sure. Why are ye so tired?” She leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees with her chin in her palms, “had a late night?”

With a shake of her head, Claire lays down on Geillis’s bound, turning on her side to face her, “I have a date tonight.”

“A date?” Geillis questions with wide eyes, “on a Monday? Who asked ye out on a Monday?”

Claire yawns widely before rubbing her eyes and giving Geillis a sleepy smile, “Jamie-“

“The fox cub?”

“Yes, he’s taking me to the pictures.”

“On a Monday?”

“Yes.” Claire responds, raising an eyebrow at Geillis’s questions, “whatever’s wrong with a Monday date?”

Geillis laughs and lays down on the bed next to Claire, turning to face her, “well, Mondays are’na verra romantic, hen. A Friday, definitely. But a Monday?”

Claire shrugs one of her shoulders, “maybe he didn’t want to wait until Friday,” she scoots closer to Geillis and takes one of her hands, lacing their fingers together, “I don’t want to wait until Friday.” She yawns, “will you help me get ready?”

With a smile and a peck to Claire’s forehead, she responds, “of course. Get some rest.”

As Claire closes her eyes, Geillis lets go of her hand and pulls the quilt bunched at the bottom of the bed over them before taking both of Claire’s hands in her own and closes her eyes, following Claire into sleep.

Two hours go by before Claire awakens to an empty bed and a quiet room. The radio was turned off and the door was shut, the room dark from the closed curtains encasing the windows. She kicks the quilt off and sits up, stretching her arms over her head before standing and walking out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her. She walks to her room and kicks off her slippers, setting them at the foot of her bed, and pulls the doors of her dark oak wardrobe, staring down the variety of dresses hanging from the rack, eyes flicking bath and forth across the fabrics. Eventually, she settles on a knee length navy blue nautical dress with a white waistband and a white collar, and black oxfords. Forgoing dealing with her hair and any makeup, she walks downstairs and makes her way to the small sitting room where she finds Rupert sitting propped up against the sofa and Angus asleep on the floor.

Rupert looks up at her and grins, his face lighting up, his pats his throat, “all clear.”

She laughs and kneels at his side, “did my uncle take it out this morning?”

He nods and responds, “guess I heal quickly.”

“Guess so,” she gestures to his wound, “mind if I check your bandages?”

“Be my guest,” he winces as he carefully pulls up the cotton shirt he was wearing, “Angus thought I’d like some clean clothes, though, let me tell ye, havin ta have help gettin’ dressed is not fun,” he laughs then groans in pain.

“Careful there,” she murmurs, lifts the bandages and checks the site, “it looks good so far,” she looks up at him, “when was it last cleaned?”

“Uh, two hours ago?” He questions himself before shrugging, “an older woman came by and cleaned it. Very stern.”

Claire nods knowingly, “you must be talking about Marian. She’s only like that to strangers, I assure you.” She sets the bandages back and sits on her heels, “I’ll clean it in two hours,” she says, “we don’t want to keep it too clean.”

“Why not?” he questions, glancing down at his wound and back up at Claire’s face.

“Well,” she says, tapping her chin and looking at the ceiling, “it was originally believed that keeping things clean wasn’t important at all until Ignaz Semmelweis-“

“Who’s that?” he questions.

“He was a Hungarian doctor,” she explains, looking at him, “who discovered the important of handwashing in 1847.”

“What happened in 1847?” He continues, curiosity lighting up his eyes while Angus snorts in his sleep and rolls over, stretching his limbs out like a starfish.

Claire moves to the side to accommodate his movements and answers, “He was working in Vienna at the time, where the mortality rate, or rate of death, in childbirths was only one out of every one hundred births,” at his understanding nod, she continues, “until doctors were also assigned with the job of performing autopsies. After that, the mortality rate jumped to a little over seven percent and Ignaz Semmelweis realized the connection after a friend of his received a small scalpel wound during an autopsy of a woman who had died of puerperal fever.” She pauses for moment, gauging if he is still interested in her explanation before continuing, “His friend died, and his autopsy showed that he died of puerperal fever. Since glovers weren’t commonly used at the time, it was easy for Semmelweis to establish a contagion and forced everyone to wash their hands in a bowl of chloride solution.”

“How would that explain a connection?” he asks her, “at least in childbirth?”

“Well,” she starts explaining, pleased that he was asking further questions, “with doctors performing autopsies and then immediately attending to childbirths without any sanitation in between, it allowed for the transfers of any diseases and germs to the child and mother.”

“That’s awful!” he exclaims, shock in his voice, “did these doctors even care they were killing people?”

She nods quickly, “some did but it wasn’t recognized and widely used until after he died.”

“Well, what happened to him?” He asks quickly.

She winces, “he died of injuries received in a Viennese insane asylum.”

He nods slowly with a frown before asking, “so what does that mean for me?”

She pauses for a moment, backtracking to the beginning of the conversation, “oh! Some germs are good and if we clean your wound too much then it won’t heal as well.”

“Ah,” he rubs his beard with a frown, “alright, I guess I understand.”

The sound of a throat clearing can be heard from the doorway and Claire looks up to see Geillis standing there with a teasing smile, “ye boring that poor man with more germ talk?”

“Mebbe no’ him,” Angus mumbles from his spot on the floor, “but I sure am.”

Claire glares at him while Rupert lightly kicks his leg and hisses something in Gaelic too quickly for Claire to catch. Whatever it was made both Angus and Geillis laugh, causing Claire to stand up with a huff and a smothered smile, “well, I’m going to find breakfast. Try not to die, Rupert.”

Claire walks by the laughing Geillis, who pats her on the back, and goes to the kitchen, her stomach rumbling loudly in the empty hallway.

By the time 6 PM rolls around and Claire can reasonably start getting ready for her date, she finds herself in her bedroom with Geillis standing in front of her wardrobe, staring it down as if it committed one of the seven deadly sins. “Claire, this dress is four years old! You canna wear that on a date,” she pulls it out of the wardrobe and tosses it over her shoulder, the black fabric landing on the plush rug with a soft thump.

“Well,” Claire says, standing up to pick the dress off the floor, “you could at least not throw my clothes while you critique them.” She stands next to Geillis and points at a smooth gold dress with a pattern resembling the sun, “what about that?”

Geillis rolls her eyes, “perhaps, if ye were going to a museum. Ye act like ye’ve never been on a date before.”

“The outings with Frank couldn’t really be considered “dates”, Geilli,” she responds, sighing and sitting back on her bed, “I’m hopeless.”

“No’ hopeless,” Geillis asserts before glancing at her best friend, “in dire need of assistance but no’ hopeless.” She turns back to the wardrobe and mumbles, “too many feathers.” She pauses and a slow grin spread across her face, “Claire, when did ye get this?” She holds up the dress to show her friend.

Claire looks up at the knee length dark blue silk dress with a sheer covering and detailed blue and black beadwork starting in long teardrop shapes down the chest before covering the entire skirt in small, almost leaflike, shapes, “do you remember Louise?” At Geillis’s nod, she continues, “I received it from her about two weeks ago. She found it in a small shop in Paris and said it reminded her of me.”

“That was sweet of her. Is she still planning on visiting this summer?” She lays the dress next to Claire on the bed and looks back at the wardrobe.

“No,” Claire says with a shake of her head, “she’s pregnant and isn’t sure about travel.”

“Really?” Geillis smiles, “that’s wonderful! I kent how much she wanted to start a family.” She holds up a black knee length fur coat and muff, “how old are these?”

Claire looks at the coat with a small smile, reaching out and lightly touching the soft fur with the tips of her fingers, “it was my mother’s. She was wearing it the day I was born and I,” she clears her throat, “I couldn’t bring myself to part with it when Lamb and I left England.”

“It’s in perfect condition.” Geillis responds.

She nods with a watery smile, “I’ve never worn it.”

She looks down at the coat in her heads and cocks her head to the side, “I ken I’ve seen this in photographs.”

“You have,” Claire replies, wiping at her eyes, “it was her favorite.”

Geillis sets the coat on top of the dress with a smile, “wear it tonight.”

Claire frantically shakes her head, “oh no, I couldn’t possibly-“

“Claire,” Geillis interrupts, kneeling in front of her and taking her heads, speaking with a surprising amount of gentleness, “take a piece of your mother with you tonight. I ken she would want to be here for this.”

“I’ve been on dates before,” Claire replies, her eyes watering again.

“But never one with a man you actually like. Never one like this.”

“It’s just the pictures.”

“But it could be so much more,” Geillis responds, reaching up and wiping away the tears spilling down Claire’s cheeks, “if ye let it.”

* * *

Claire paces the hallway, resisting the urge to bite her fingernails, and glances at the clock.

“Hen, ye’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Geillis jokes with a smile.

“I can’t help it,” she explains, exasperated, “I don’t understand why I’m so nervous.” She takes a deep breath and sits on the steps next to Geillis. “What if he changes his mind and doesn’t show?”

Geillis snorts, “doesn’t show,” she nudges Claire and smiles at her, “I saw ye two talking last night when I came home. He’ll show.”

She smiles at her friend and nods her head, “right. This will be fine.”

“Hopefully, he won’t be as dull as Frank,” Geillis jokes.

Claire laughs but before she can respond, the doorbell buzzes and she freezes. Geillis pushes her up and gestures to the door, “go get him,” she whispers with a grin. Claire makes her way to the door and takes a deep breath before pulling open the door to reveal Jamie Fraser on the steps, a small nervous smile on his lips and a package in his white gloved hands. He wore a white shirt with black satin stripe flat front pants and a three buttoned black vest. In leu of the traditional formal tailcoat, he donned a black tuxedo jacket that fell just below his hips with shiny satin peaked lapels and wrist cuffs and a dark blue bowtie that that surprisingly matched the color of Claire’s dress. His red hair curled beneath his top hat and his black leather shoes glistened in the light flooding the front steps from the hallway.

A large smile graces Claire’s red lips as she takes him in, “you clean up well, Fraser. It’s nice seeing you in clothes without bloodstains.” She steps aside as he laughs, allowing him to enter the warm home, leaving the cold air outside as she shuts the door. She takes his hat and gloves from him, setting them on the stand by the door and pauses, glancing around nervously as Geillis looks on with a grin.

Jamie clears his throat and hands Claire the wrapped package, “after ye went to bed last night, I explored a wee bit, I hope ye like it.”

She smiles at him and carefully unwraps the brown paper wrapped package, revealing a leatherbound book. She glances up at him with a curious look before looking back at the book and opening the cover, revealing a detailed drawing of the inside of a flower stem and a page that says, “Practical Botany by Bergen and Caldwell,” she reads aloud before looking back up at Jamie with a grin, “how did you know?”

“I saw the greenhouse out back,” he says with a smile before gesturing at the book, “’tis a textbook but I ken ye’d get more information.”

She flips through the pages, the smile never leaving her face, “this will be so useful. Thank you, Jamie.” She looks at him with the book clutched to her chest, “I didn’t get you anything.”

Jamie shakes his head, “ye agreed to go out with me.”

“It was my idea,” she laughs.

Before Jamie can respond, Geillis stands up and takes the book from Claire, “I’ll put this is yer room, now,” she gently pushes them to the door, “go.” She hands Claire her coat and muff and opens the door, “have her back home by midnight, Jamie.” At Claire’s startled look, she continues, “yer uncle left me strict instructions before he left.”

“I’m twenty?” Claire questions, “and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Dinna fash, Geillis, I’ll see her home safe,” Jamie says with a smile before helping Claire into her coat and picking up his hat and gloves.

“I ken you will, fox cub.”

The pair walk out the door and Geillis shut it behind them with a grin.

As they walk down the steps towards Jamie’s parked car, Claire looks at him and says, “I didn’t know you knew Geillis.”

Jamie opens the passenger door for Claire, “my uncle is… verra interested in her. I dinna ken if they are dating, courting, or just interested.” He shuts the door and walks over to the driver’s side, gets in and starts the car, the engine rumbling to life. “How do ye ken Geillis?”

“We grew up together,” she says and at Jamie’s confused glance, continues with, “Geillis’s family moved to Oxfordshire when we were five, shortly after my parent’s death. They lived next to my uncle and he took me over there to welcome to them to the neighborhood and we were inseparable.” She smiles, “I used to stay with them while my uncle was working and we would get into so much trouble,” with a laugh she explains, “when we were twelve, we used to sneak out after everyone went to bed to drink her father’s whiskey on the roof.” Jamie chuckles at her story and she continues, “they moved back to Scotland when we were fourteen and Lamb moved us here a year later. I convinced her to move here to stay with me when we were eighteen.”

“How did ye convince her?” He questions, nearing the movie palace.

She laughs at the memory and says, “After a little bit of back and forth, I sent her a fifteen-page letter detailing every single reason she should move here and forced everyone I knew to sign it. She arrived the day after I received her response and made me pay for her taxi.”

Jamie laughs as he pulls up outside the bright building, parking the car against the curb, “ye must be verra close.”

“She’s a sister to me,” she smiles at him, “I couldn’t imagine my life without her.”

They get out of the car and link arms, walking towards the doors of the movie palace, “will you tell me about yourself after the film? Perhaps over a drink?”

Jamie smiles down at her, “aye, I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nevermind, the stuff I need to explain is in the next chapter lmao   
> Also! The commentor who recommended OMG That Dress, I found the tumblr and I used it for all the clothes described in this chapter! It's a wonderful site and I will be using it more <3   
> I have the next chapter written but I hit major writer's block with chapter 8 so I'm using this as motivation to keep writing. Let me know what you think? I hope you like it <3 If you have any questions or you want explanations on something please let me know and I'd be happy to elaborate :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING!!! This chapter contains descriptions of wartime violence, specifically that of prison camps, it's not detailed but it may be harmful to some readers. Please read with caution.

_The Lady_ , while silent, had a beautiful musical score played by the accompanying pianist and as the small crowd leaves the theatre sounds of sniffling can be heard from various people.

Claire dabs at her eyes, “I can’t believe she couldn’t find her baby.”

Jamie nods, discreetly wiping his own eyes, “it was verra cruel to just disappear.”

“I mean,” Claire continues, walking to the car with Jamie, “she trusted them and they just vanished!”

He opens the car door for her, “mebbe they thought she’d never come back.” After she’s in the car, Jamie closes the door and goes to his side, quickly getting in to escape the cold, and starts the car, “what would ye do?”

“I wouldn’t give my son away,” Claire says with a shake of her head, “even if I trusted them.” She looks up at Jamie as he drives, “what would you do?”

“I’d move heaven and earth for my son,” he says with an air of finality that surprises Claire.

“Do you have any children?” She questions, curious at his somewhat stern response.

He shakes his head, “no. Truthfully,” he glances at her quickly, “I’ve never lain with a woman.”

“Really?” She pauses for a moment, searching for the right words, “that’s surprising. Especially considering your friendships with Rupert and Angus and their affinity for the cat house.”

Jamie chuckles, “my father taught me to be careful with where I sow my seed. Should I get a lass with child then I should do right by her and marry her, but marriage should be for love not duty.”

“That’s very honorable of you, Jamie,” she says with a smile, watching Jamie’s face as he talks.

He clears his throat and says, “ye ken about me. Have ye?”

“Lain with a woman?”

He laughs, “man or woman.”

She shakes her head, “no to either. I have been stuck in a rather dull courtship arranged by my uncle for the last few years. He has proposed marriage a few times but, despite my refusals, he’s very persistent.”

“Why did yer uncle arrange it?” he questions, parking the car outside of a dark building.

“Well,” she explains, “courtships are traditionally arranged by parents and he raised me. He also _adores_ Frank so he thought that, despite asserting that I must make all decisions for myself and he will support whatever I decide, I would be taken care of with him. Perhaps even happy with time.”

“And ye dinna believe ye would be?” He asks, getting out of the car and going to her side, opening the door, and helping her out.

She shrugs her shoulders, tightening her coat around her before linking arms with Jamie, “perhaps. I would be taken care of and comfortable but,” she hums, “I’m looking for more than just comfortable.” She looks up at the darkened building, “now, where are we?”

Jamie smiles, “this is my uncle’s restaurant.” He walks her to the door of the restaurant, unlocking the door and pushing it open, “I thought we could have a drink and talk in here.” He shuts the door behind them and helps her out of her coat, hanging it in the closet by the bar. He walks behind the bar as she moves over to the armchairs by the fireplace, sitting down and relaxing against the back of the chair. “What will ye have, Sassenach?” he asks with a smile.

“Whisky, please,” she replies, watching him with a soft smile.

“Och, a lass after my own heart,” he says with a chuckle as he grabs a bottle of whisky from underneath the counter. He grabs two glasses and sits them side by side before pouring the whisky into the crisscrossed glasses. He sets the bottle down and picks up the glasses, walks over to Claire and hands her a glass before setting the other down on the small table and moving to the fireplace. He crouches down and places a few logs of wood inside the brick casing and lights it, quickly creating a warm blaze encasing the couple. He sits down in the chair next to the Claire and picks up his glass, taking a small sip while he watches her look around the restaurant. “This is Leoch,” he says, “named after my uncle’s ancestral castle back in Scotland.”

“I’ve never heard of this place before,” she responds, taking a sip of her drink and eyeing Jamie.

“Aye, ‘tis mostly Scots that come here,” he says, “all traditional food, ye ken, reminds a lot of people of back home.”

“And where is home for you?”

He leans back in his seat and takes a sip of his drink, a wistful smile on his face at the memories of his home flooding his brain, “Lallybroch, ‘tis no’ far from Inverness. Been in the family for almost two hundred years. I was actually named after one of my ancestors, him and his wife, The Stuart Witch, died at Culloden Moor.”

Claire’s eyes are wide as she listens to him speak, “they must have really loved each other, to die in battle together.”

“Aye,” he says, taking a drink, “I ken they did.” He shakes his head and chuckles, “what was yer question?”

“Where is home for you,” she laughs, “but let’s continue with this one, tell me about your family?”

“How many generations back?”

“Your parents will do,” she grins, leaning forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees as she holds her glass.

“Well,” he starts, “my parents were Ellen and Brian Fraser.” He leans forward, mirroring her position, “my parents actually eloped. They snuck away in the dead of night and were married by my uncle Alexander Fraser. Her family dinna find her until she was already visibly pregnant with my older brother so they werena able to do anything about the marriage.”

“Why would they want to end the marriage?” Claire questions.

“There was always bad blood between the Fraser’s and MacKenzie’s, and my MacKenzie grandsire had already arranged a marriage for my mam.”

“I take it she didn’t like that?”

Jamie laughs and shakes his head, “’not liking’ would be an understatement. She was furious. She met my da the day her engagement was announced. It took one look from across the room and they ran away together that night.”

“That’s romantic,” she replies with a smile, already connecting with Jamie’s parents as she remembers her first meeting with Jamie.

“Aye,” he continues, before looking down at his drink, swirling the whisky around the glass, “my mam died in childbirth with my younger brother, who passed shortly after.”

“I’m so sorry, Jamie,” she leans forward, resting her hand on his arm in comfort.

“My older brother, Willie, died of smallpox when he was eleven.” He rubs his hand across his face and sighs, giving Claire a small smile before continuing, “I was conscripted for the Great War when I was seventeen and sent to the front lines. I was grateful that my da could stay at Lallybroch with Jenny, my sister, but a few months after I left, I was captured. I dinna ken what happened exactly but Jenny told me they received a letter that said I was missing and presumed dead. She said he just collapsed and dinna get back up.”

Claire gasps but doesn’t say anything. She leans over and takes Jamie’s glass, sets the drinks on the table and takes Jamie’s hands in her own, silently urging him to continue if he would like.

He squeezes her hands and continues, “I tried ta escape on the way to the first camp. I almost made it but,” he shrugs, “I was separated from the rest of the prisoners and sent another way the next day. I was kept in a camp in Sedan and they,” he shakes his head, “they executed prisoners every day for being too slow, too loud, coughing, taking a pish.” He takes a deep breath, holding her hands tightly and almost disappearing into his memories, “we were tasked with digging trenches and carting dead bodies. A man named Robert shared my tent with me, he couldna have been more than sixteen. He was sickly and I knew, _I knew_ , they would kill him if he dinna get stronger. So, I snuck him my rations as often as I could. One day,” he swallows audibly, his breath catching in his throat, “they caught me. They called it ‘stealing’. I told them they were my rations to give so they strung me up in the center of the camp, my feet tied together and my arms out,” he chuckles ruefully, “they called it the ‘crucifixion’. I had ta count every lash in German, if I messed up, they started over. I could feel the blood pouring down my legs until my body went numb. A week later, I wasna digging a trench fast enough and they did it again.” He clears his throat, “I should have died. God kens I wanted to die.”

Claire kneels in front him, teary eyes meeting teary eyes and presses their foreheads together, “I’m glad you didn’t. I’m glad you’re here.”

He takes a breath, breathing her in, and gives a watery smile, “as am I, Sassenach.”

“What happened to Robert?” she asks, sitting back on her heels, still holding his hands.

“After the second time,” he near whispers, “I couldna get out of bed. Truthfully, I dinna remember much. I remember Rabbie standing in front of me, his back straight as he spoke to one of the soldiers, then he was dragged out of the tent. I heard screams and then it was silent. I dinna ken what happened until a week later.” He rubs his face, “they wanted to whip me again for no’ getting up and Rabbie stepped in. He took my punishment because he knew it would kill me.” Claire rubs her thumbs soothingly across his knuckles as he speaks, “he died. His body couldna handle it and he was gone.” He looks down at their hands, trying to keep the tears back, “it was my fault he died. If I had just gotten up then he would still be alive.”

Claire shakes her head, “you can’t blame yourself for what happened, Jamie. It was not your fault. You barely survived the two, you wouldn’t have survived the third. Robert knew that and he wanted to protect you. You looked out for each other in that awful place.”

“I should have tried harder.”

“You did everything you could and survived more than I can even imagine,” she presses her lips lightly to his knuckles and gives him a watery smile, “you survived hell, Jamie, and did the best you could with what you had.” She clears her throat, “what happened next?”

“I was there until the war ended. I was given a Victory Medal and a pat on the back by the British Army then sent home. My Da had already been buried but I made it in time to see Jenny marry my best friend Ian Murray. In 1921, shortly after my twenty first birthday, I came here to help my uncle.”

“And the rest is history?” she asks with a small smile.

“Aye,” he says, chuckling, “ye could say that.”

“What brought you here?” she questions, sliding backwards to make room for Jamie as he gets out of the chair and sits on the floor in front of her, hands still clasped.

“The economy back home got bad and there were’na enough jobs to go around. We had the family farm but ye canna do much without the money to run it.” He looks down at their hands, rubbing his thumbs across her knuckles, “most of the money I make, I send back home to Jenny, Ian, and their bairns.”

“You’re an honorable man, Jamie Fraser,” she says with a smile.

He gives her a small smile, “I do what I must to see to those I love.”

“What do you do for your uncle?”

He chuckles, “yer still trying ta find out what happened?”

“Oh absolutely.” She laughs.

He shakes his head with a smile and says, “I take care of the books. I’m good with numbers, ye ken, so I keep track of how much money we’re making versus how much we’re spending. Look for unexplained gaps and make sure everyone stays paid.” At her curious look, he continues, “I also do pickups and sometimes things go wrong, as ye saw last night.”

“So, what does that make you?”

“A glorified accountant,” he laughs.

“With violent tendences?” she adds on, her eyes bright with mischief.

“Oh, aye. I’m a menace to society.”

“You should be in prison.”

“A life sentence, certainly.”

She laughs and leans forward, “you’ve told me, you know.”

“Have I?”

“Oh, aye,” she says, mimicking his accent, “when I asked if you were a gangster at the Cotton Club, you said if you told me anything, you’d have to kill me.”

“I dinna remember saying I was a gangster,” he replies, chuckling.

She looks around at the restaurant before she states with a laugh, “It was implied.”

“I do what I must to care for those I love,” he repeats his statement from earlier.

“And if that makes you a criminal?” she questions, smiling softly.

“Then so be it,” he replies, resting a hand gently on her cheek.

“Will you hurt me now?” she asks, leaning towards him.

“I would kill anyone who dares try,” he whispers, leaning forward.

A sharp shriek pierces the air, making them jump apart, the magic in the air rapidly dissipating. Jamie, quickly on his feet, whirls around to find whoever did it, only catching a passing glimpse of bright blonde hair in the dark. Claire stands and catches his hand before he takes off after the other person, “let them go, Jamie.” She glances at the clock then looks at him with a sad smile, “I better get home.”

He nods and squeezes her hand with a smile, “let’s get ye home, Sassenach,” he pauses, “may I see ye again?”

Her smile widens and she nods, “wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

In truth, it’s easier to hide behind little moments in time that make things pause. They make you think about what’s happening and whether it’s worth it to continue. The little moments that make you look into the eyes of your lover and see what future you could possibly have together if one even existed at all. It’s hard to say what, exactly, makes us choose to be with those we spend the rest of our lives with. For some, it’s a pull in their heart. For others, it’s convenient and comfortable. And for a precious few, they can’t say exactly beyond that they just know. For Claire, the moment she laid eyes on Jamie Fraser, she just knew, as if her heart paused and whispered to her brain, “that’s the one.” And, for the first time in her life, she listened to her heart. She dragged the whisper up until it echoed in her brain and made her ask the man his name. It made her flirt and tease in a way she hasn’t done before. And it made her pray, for the first time in a long time, that she might run into him again.

It’s not always easy, falling in love. Of course, nothing worth having ever truly is. But, despite everything that can go wrong, people continue to love others. They continue to look at people and let their hearts reach out, spinning around in an eternal dance. Perhaps it should have been easier for Jamie and Claire, they had nothing truly working against them, no one wanting to stop them or anything really holding them back. But did Claire really understand the risks of what she was getting in to? Did she truly understand what it meant to tie herself to Red Jamie? Did Jamie even understand what could happen if he allowed himself to fall in love? Did he understand the amount of people that wanted him dead and would stop at nothing to see it happen? As I sit here, writing this story for you and watching my grandparents out in their garden, my Granny on her knees with her hands buried in the dirt, pulling at weeds, and my Granda reading to her from a thick book resting in his lap with Adso curled at his feet, I still wonder if they knew what they were getting in to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So brief historical note, there isn't much known about the Sedan prison camp. It was one of the worst ones during World War 1 but a lot of documentation was destroyed after the war. The "crucifixion" was used in English POW camps during WW1 while the whipping and counting in German was used by the Germans in WW2. The Lady is also a real film released in January of 1925 but was destroyed so I have no idea if she actually finds her baby or not.  
> Also, another note, this was the start of the sexual liberation movement but Claire still had that "proper" English upbringing of the early 20th century so I kind of wanted to explain why she acts the way she does.  
> I also gave up on this fic for a minute and almost deleted my word document. I kind of figured that no one really likes this fic and there's absolutely no reason for me to keep writing it. It's definitely an insecurity issue tbh because I keep comparing my work to everyone else's and realizing that there's enough fics and I don't need to finish this one. I still have more I want to write for this but I'm unsure if I will find the confidence to do so, if that makes sense? I'm awfully insecure. Anyway, let me know what you think? Thanks and have a wonderful day/night!!


	8. Chapter 8

As Jamie pulls up outside of Claire’s home, her heart drops to her stomach at the sight of the other car out front and she stiffens in the seat.

“Are ye alright, Sassenach?” he asks her, stopping the car.

“What?” she shakes her head quickly, as if clearing cobwebs, “oh yes, everything’s fine.” She looks up at him with a soft smile, “just… not quite ready for the night to be over.”

He glances at his watch then looks back at her, “’tis only eleven, mo nighean donn, would ye care for a walk?”

“I’d love to Jamie but,” she eyes the other car and sighs wistfully, “it appears I have some business to attend to.”

His eyebrows raise in curiosity, “at eleven?”

“It seems some men are still incapable of understanding the word ‘no’,” she says with a sigh before leaning over to kiss Jamie’s cheek. “See you soon, soldier?”

He cups her cheek with a smile and kisses her forehead gently, “stay safe, Sassenach.”

“Always,” she gets out of the car and shuts the door carefully, sighing as she takes in the front door. She walks up the sidewalk, turns to wave goodbye, and opens the door, stepping into the blissfully warm foyer.

Geillis paces up and down the hallway, spinning to face Claire as the door shuts softly. She rushes over and pulls Claire into a hug, whispering, “Frank is here,” into her ear before pulling away with a smile. “How was your evening, hen?”

Claire sighs and plasters a smile on her face, “it was wonderful, Geilli, thank you.” She removes her coat and hangs it in the closet, takes off her shoes and replaces them with her house slippers, before turning back to Geillis. “Is Lamb here?” she asks quietly.

Geillis shakes her head, “he hasna come back from the hospital.”

“Then why is he here?” she hisses, eyeing the sitting room nervously.

“I dinna ken,” Geillis responds, glancing over her shoulder, “I can tell him yer sick?”

Claire rubs Geillis’s shoulder gently in thanks, “no, I should face him.” She takes a deep fortifying breath, “will you come with me?”

“I’ll be right behind ye, lass,” she says, stepping behind Claire as she walks forward.

Claire steps into the sitting room, taking in the sight of Frank lounging back on the sofa with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

He looks up at her footsteps and grins, placing the glass on the end table before standing and taking her hands, “darling,” he says, kissing her cheek lightly.

She smiles stiffly at Frank, taking in the stench of wine and cheap perfume, and carefully slips her hands out of his, “what are you doing here, Frank?”

“I came to see you, my dear,” he sits on the sofa and gestures to the seat across from him. “Don’t you think it’s time we set a date?”

“A date?” Claire questions, choosing to stand rather than sit.

Frank chuckles, “for our wedding, of course. Have you forgotten?”

She takes a deep breath, “I can’t have forgotten, Mr. Randall,” she begins, “because I do not remember accepting a proposal.”

“Well then, we shall remedy that promptly,” he says, digging into his pocket and withdrawing a silver ring with a large marquise-shaped diamond surrounded by smaller diamonds and two emeralds on both sides of the marquise. He leans forward, swaying slightly, and takes her hand, dropping the ring in her palm, “marry me, Claire.”

Claire turns her hand over and lets the ring drop to the floor, landing with a soft thump on the rug, “no.”

He laughs, “you’re quite funny, my dear. Now, how do you feel about a summer wedding?”

She crosses her arms and stares down at him, “I said no, Mr. Randall.”

His expression hardens, “no?”

“As I said the last few times you have asked, no. The answer has, and always will be, no.” Claire asserts, not breaking eye contact.

He slowly rises to his feet, “think long and hard about this, Ms. Beauchamp,” he begins, “no one tells me no.”

She raises her chin defiantly, “I do believe I just did.”

He bends down and picks the ring up off the floor before standing directly in front of her, his eyes stormy as he stares at her, “perhaps you should rethink your stance, Ms. Beauchamp, you will regret this. I do know a lot of people.”

She raises an eyebrow, “are you threatening me, Mr. Randall?” She questions, holding back the urge to laugh in his face.

“No,” he states firmly, “I’m making a promise.”

She steps to the side and gestures to the door, “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Before Frank has the chance to respond, Geillis takes him by the arm and pulls him to the door, “thank you for stopping by, Mr. Randall.” She hands him his coat, “I wish whoever ye court next the best of luck.” She pulls up the door and lightly pushes him outside, slamming the door as soon as he’s on the front steps and twisting the lock. She turns towards Claire, “whatever did you see in that man?”

Claire snorts and shakes her head, “absolutely nothing.” She gestures for Geillis to follow her and they make their way upstairs to Claire’s bedroom, collapsing on her spacious bed side by side. She releases a bone-weary sigh and turns on her side to face Geillis, “do you think he’s gone for good?”

Geillis turns to face her and smiles, “well, if he’s not, perhaps ye could send yer wee fox cub to him.”

Claire laughs, “he’s not my ‘wee fox cub’.”

“Oh?” Geillis questions with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, “what is he then?”

“He’s my,” she pauses, “a… good man. He’s a good man, Geilli.”

“And,” she urges, holding back laughter.

“And I care for him. Deeply.” Claire finishes.

“You care for him? That’s it?” Geillis asks incredulously.

She shrugs a shoulder with a sheepish smile, “there’s something about him, something that makes me want to hold him tight and never let go.”

“Maybe you love him,” she says, taking one of Claire’s hands in her own.

“I’ve known him for three days,” Claire protests.

“There’s never a timeline on love, hen. Sometimes,” she pauses for a moment, a slight smile overtaking her face, “sometimes, ye just know.” She shakes her head, “besides, ye said it yerself. There’s something about him.”

“Well, yes but could it really be love already?” Claire questions, eyes wide.

“It could be,” Geillis says, “dinna deny it so quickly.” She grins and sits up quickly, “wait, I have something for you.” She stands and rushes down the hall to your room, the sound of doors slapping and pounding footsteps echoes as she rushes back, a package clutched in her hands. She plops back down on the bed and holds it out to Claire, “Louise sent me these a few weeks ago.”

Claire takes the package in her hands and stares at it with concern, “I’m not quite sure I want to know what these are.”

Geillis laughs and shakes her head, “that one’s for ye. I already opened mine.”

“Why did you get one for me?” She questions, laughing, “I don’t even know what they are.”

“Just open it,” Geillis urges, gesturing to the package, practically vibrating where she sits with excitement.

Claire shakes her head and pulls the twine and brown paper off the package, revealing an unlabeled cardboard box. She glances up at Geillis who gestures to the package with a grin, so she pulls open the box, revealing a dark brown rubber cap with a small piece of twine looped through a small extension jutting out of it. She gingerly lifts it out of the package and holds it up to the light, “what is this?”

Geillis laughs, “come on, Claire! Ye’re studying medicine, surely ye ken what it is.”

She glances at Geillis and places it in the palm of her hand, “well yes. It’s a cervical cap but why ever would you get me one? Where did Louise get it?”

“A clinic opened in London four years ago. Louise told me about it and well,” she shrugs, “I wanted one, not quite ready for a wee bairn running around.” She grins at Claire, “besides, ye could use that to consummate yer relationship with that fox cub of yers.”

Claire laughs and tosses the cap back in the box, “I don’t think I’ll be using that for a while.”

She shoves her lightly, “ye dinna ken that!” she smirks, “maybe tomorrow’s yer lucky day.”

Claire snorts and puts the box on the nightstand, “right, of course. Let me just call Jamie and ask if he’s free.”

Geillis laughs and lays back on the bed, “ye never know, hen. Though, it is a fantastic stress reliever.”

“I’m sure it is,” Claire agrees, laughing, as she lays down next to Geillis, “truthfully, I’m not sure if I’m ready for that step.”

Geillis shrugs and looks over at her, “that’s alright. Ye ken I was joking, right?” At Claire’s nod, she continues, “I just want ye to be safe for whenever yer ready. Even if that’s never.”

Claire shakes her head, “you’re a right clown.” After a moment, she says, “do you think I could truly be in love?”

“I dinna ken,” Geillis says, turning on her side to face Claire, “do _you_ think ye’re in love?”

Claire stares up at the ceiling for a moment, “I’m not sure.” She turns to face Geillis, “do you think he could love me?”

“I ken he already does, hen,” Geillis says with a smile, “I could tell that just from what I saw of the two of ye today.”

“You don’t worry that it’s too fast?” Claire questions.

Geillis shakes her head, “I figure it’s wise to never questions matters of the heart.”

She raises an eyebrow, “when did you get so intelligent?”

“Are ye saying ye dinna think I’m smart?” Geillis questions, holding back her laughter.

Claire shrugs, trying not to smile, “well…”

She laughs and pushes Claire, “we can’t all be nurses.”

“Oh, you’re definitely smart, Geilli,” Claire laughs, feeling lighter after the meeting with Frank.

After a moment, Geillis asks, “how was your date?”

Claire smiles sleepily at her, “oh, Geillis. He’s such a good man.” She says, “I didn’t want the night to end.”

“Ye came back early.”

She nods, “I wanted Lamb to trust him, so I thought if I arrived early then perhaps…” she trails off and Geillis smiles knowingly.

“Dinna fash, lass. I have a good feeling about this.” She takes Claire’s hand and laces their fingers together.

* * *

The following morning dawns bright and cold, white snow piled on the ground outside as the city wakes up. Claire wakes up slowly to the sun in her eyes and Geillis’s hair nearly in her mouth. She sputters and swats it away, sitting it up slowly so not to wake her friend, she shakes her head with a quiet laugh at Geillis’s spread-out form across her bed, one foot hanging off the edge and her mouth wide open. She checks the clock and begins getting ready for her morning at the hospital, her feet cold on the hardwood floors.

She walks to her wardrobe and withdraws a mid-calf length mint green dress made with comfortable linen and eyelet lace. She pulls the dress over her head and buttons the long length of buttons that begin halfway down the torso of the dress and go up to the collar. She ties the bow that tightens the dress at her hips and slips on white wool stockings before grabbing a green hat from her wardrobe and closing the doors firmly. As she’s leaving, she pushes Geillis’s foot back under the covers and pulls the duvet up over her shoulders before turning and heading down to the foyer. The house is blissfully quiet as she walks to the closet, sticking her feet into her black oxfords, and grabbing her purse from beside the door. She waves at Marian and departs the house, pulling the front door firmly shut behind her, and walking down the front steps-

“Shit,” she mutters to herself before turning and pushing the door open again, grabbing the first coat her hand touches and pulling the door shut again, slipping her arms through the sleeves, and tightening it around her.

She shakes her head with a quiet laugh and walks down the sidewalk, her bright eyes taking in the waking city. Newspaper boys calling for people to pick up the new issue, sidewalk salesmen setting up the booths for the morning walkers, stores slowly coming to life as their owners flip on the lights and turn their signs to “open”. She takes a deep breath, a contented sigh escaping her body as she relaxes, her heart beating a gentle rhythm in her chest. The hospital, being only a few blocks from her home, is a short welcome walk nearly every morning. As she turns left, a short woman with long blonde hair braided down her back and a stern face steps into her path, blocking her from moving any further.

“Hello,” Claire greets cautiously, a kind smile gracing her lips.

“Are ye Claire Beauchamp?” the woman asks in leu of a greeting.

Claire’s smile falls and she nods, “I am. Why do you ask?”

The woman narrows her eyes and steps closer to Claire, “stay away from Jamie Fraser.”

She raises an eyebrow, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Nae,” she says, “but I saw ye at Leoch wi’ Jamie. He’s mine an’ I will no’ let some Sassenach hoor take him from me.”

“So, it was you that screeched!” Claire exclaims with a laugh. “The mystery is solved. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she gives the woman another smile and goes to step around her before she steps in Claire’s path again.

“I willna let ye have Jamie,” she says, glaring up at Claire.

“Well,” Claire begins, “there is no ‘letting’ involved. Jamie can make his own decisions about who he spends his time with.” She steps around her, “now, if you’ll excuse me. I must be getting to work.”

The woman finally lets her pass but turns to face her, her words making Claire pause, “ye will regret this, Claire Beauchamp. I willna let ye win.”

Claire shakes her head and continues walking, “the second time this week I’ve been threatened.” She mutters to herself, turning down the street the hospital is on, her good mood rapidly deteriorating.

The morning thankfully passes by quickly, much to Claire’s relief, and her stomach rumbles with hunger by the time her short shift is over. She changes out of her nurse’s uniform and slips back into her green dress, sighing in relief at the soft fabric caressing her skin. With a quick glance in the mirror, she grabs her bag and heads out into the hallway, spotting a head of grey hair walking swiftly down the corridor. With a grin, she calls out, “Uncle Lamb!”

The gentleman turns and grins at his niece, his glasses slipping down his nose as he rushes forward to embrace her, “my dear, I’m so sorry I got home so late. Did you have a good evening?”

Claire pushes his glasses up for him and he smiles in thanks, “I did! Though, I have to tell you something and I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it.”

Uncle Lamb nods slowly, taking in her nervousness, “there’s no time like the present, chickpea. What is it?”

“I formally ended the courtship with Mr. Randall. I know how much you liked him and wanted us to get ma-“

Uncle Lamb holds up his hand with a smile, “Claire,” he says, “your happiness matters more to me than whoever I like.” He rests a hand on her arm and scans her face before patting her cheek with a soft smile, “is he a good man?”

Claire pauses before nodding slowly with a smile, “he’s honorable and very kind, Uncle Lamb.”

“He better be if he caught your eye, chickpea,” he glances down at his watch then looks back up at her, “I have a surgery scheduled for one, so I need to get going but I want to hear more about this man, my dear.” He pulls Claire into a tight hug, “never be afraid to tell me anything, Claire. It doesn’t matter how I feel as long as you’re safe and happy.”

She nods and pulls away with a smile, “good luck in your surgery. I’ll see you at home?”

“See you at home,” he replies with a nod, turning and walking down the hallway.

Claire releases a sigh of relief before making her way down the other end of the hallway, towards the entrance of the hospital. As she turns the corner, she spots a tall man with fire red hair and a large smile staring right at her. She grins and walks towards him, throwing her arms around his neck in a quick hug, “what are you doing here?”

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek and says, “a little birdy told me ye get off work at this time and I kent ye’d be hungry. Fancy something to eat, Sassenach?”

She laughs and slips her arm through his, “I’d love something to eat.”

* * *

The short walk to the restaurant was spent with their arms linked, taking in the sights surrounding them as they walk. Jamie pulls her to a stop outside a five-story red brick building and gestures to it, “what do you think?”

“Is this a florist?” she asks softly, smiling at the flowers dotting the walls.

“Somewhat,” Jamie replies with a chuckle, gently pulling her into the building. The bell over the door chiming as they walk in.

The man at the bar looks up and grins at the sight of them, “Mr. Fraser finally showing his filthy mug around here!”

Jamie laughs and lets go of Claire’s arm to reach across the bar and hug the man, “Vinny!” He bounds the man on the back and steps away, looping his arm through Claire’s again, “this is Claire Beauchamp, my," he glances down at her with a raised eyebrow and she simply smirks at him in response.

Vinny grins at her and takes her hand, presses a brief to her knuckles, and says, “any friend of Jamie’s is a friend of mine. You two here for lunch?”

“Aye,” Jamie replies, “is Pete cooking?” He looks down at Claire and smiles, “Pete’s the best chef in all o’ Manhattan.”

Vinny laughs and comes around the bar to take the pair to their table, “couldn’t get him to leave the kitchen if I tried.” He pats Claire on the shoulder, “just tell me what you want, and Pete will take good care of you.”

Claire smiles at him in thanks as she sits at the dark wood table, allowing Jamie to take the seat facing the door, and reaches for the paper that details the options for the day. More couples come through the door to order the midday meal, escaping the cold air outside and embracing the warm and cheerful atmosphere within. Although the décor is exclusively dark wood and crystal chandeliers, a certain lightness permeates the atmosphere that leaves every customer with a deep feeling of joy as they leave. She taps her fingers lightly on the table as she reads, softly biting on her lower lip in thought, oblivious to Jamie’s warm gaze resting on her face.

Across town, a blonde woman with a stern face hands a wad of cash to a tall man with chocolate brown hair and a dark suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief historical note, the restaurant they're at is called Pete's Tavern and it was disguised as a florist's shop during prohibition (it still exists as a restaurant today!). I believe it was established in 1864? And the specific cervical cap mentioned in this story was designed by Dr. Marie Stopes and sold out of a clinic in London starting in 1921. She was kind of a crappy person but is known as an early pioneer for birth control.   
> Your comments on the last chapter were so nice!! I was reading them during class and I couldn't stop crying (thankfully my classes this semester are online because I wouldn't be able to think of a reasonable explanation for why I'd be crying while learning about International Law). But you all are genuinely so so sweet and I'm so thankful for everything all of you said. It's definitely hard fighting off the insecurity when it comes to posting things because this is really out of my comfort zone and it makes me nervous haha but you're all so kind and that helps a lot. Thank you so much!! ^.^  
> On another note, next chapter is when things will really 'explode' hehehehe


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence!

They give their orders to the tall Italian man and place the papers back on the table, a smile on Claire’s face as she takes in the restaurant. Jamie nervously clears his throat, catching Claire’s attention and her gaze settles on him, warming his bones.

“How did last night go?” He questions, reaching across the table for her hand and lacing their fingers together.

“Oh,” she sighs, “it went fine enough. Though, I suppose, I should tell you what happened.”

He chuckles, “I would like that, if ye’d be willing to share.”

She smiles at him, “I told you about Frank, right?” At his nod, she continues, “last night, he was drunk and demanded that we set a date for our wedding?”

Jamie’s eyes widen, “ye were engaged?”

Claire shakes her head, “no. I never agreed to a proposal and emphasized that.”

“How did he take it?”

“Not well,” she says, “he seemed fairly adamant that he will make me regret my decision.”

“Did he threaten ye?” Jamie asks, a dark shadow falling over his face.

“Well, not according to him,” she says, her brows furrowing, “he said that he knew a lot of people and was making a promise. Truthfully, I’m not sure why he thought that would make me want to marry him.”

A smile plays at Jamie’s lips, but he frowns, “are ye safe at home? Do ye think he could attack ye there?”

Claire shakes her head, “I don’t believe Mr. Randall is capable of hurting anyone.” Jamie stiffens as the name falls from her lips and she frowns in concern, “are you alright, Jamie?”

“Did ye say Randall?”

“I did,” she nods, “do you know him?”

Jamie swallows thickly, “do ye ken if he’s related to a Jonathan Randall?” He questions, “a German officer in the Great War?”

She shakes her head with a frown, “unfortunately, I don’t know much about Mr. Randall. I know he was in the war, but he hasn’t said anything beyond that. I could ask my uncle if he knows?” She squeezes his hand, “are you alright, Jamie? Have I said something wrong?”

Jamie’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, “Dinna fash, mo nighean donn.” He clears his throat, staring at a small stain on the dark wooden table, “Captain Johnathan Randall, decorated officer of the German Empire, and a stain on the fabric of humanity.” He takes a deep breath, squeezing Claire’s hand in his own, “in Sedan, we called him Black Jack, and he was awful, Claire. He was the man that gave me my scars. He killed Rabbie for defending me.” Tears pool in Claire’s eyes as he speaks but she doesn’t interrupt, “I dinna ken what happened to him when we were freed. I assumed he was captured, perhaps executed, but I willna assume that the evil of Black Jack Randall exists only within him, an evil like that curses the bloodline.” He looks up at her then, gazing into her eyes with a fierce intensity, “I will keep ye safe, Claire. Ye have my word that I willna let anything harm ye as long as I live. Ye need not be afraid, so long as I’m around.”

“And when you’re not?” Claire questions, her voice a near whisper.

“Then I willna be far,” he presses a fervent kiss to her knuckles, “I will do everything I can ta see ye safe, Sassenach.” He takes in the sadness in her gaze and frowns, “what is it?”

She sighs and covers his hand with her other one, gripping his hand tightly in hers, “Jamie, I will not ask you to protect me like this. Is this the life you want to lead? Constantly looking over your shoulder because your sweetheart can’t take care of herself?”

Jamie smiles despite himself, “nothing could keep me away from you, Sassenach.” He gently rests a palm on her cheek, gazing at her with soft eyes, “but, I can teach ye, if ye’d like. I can teach ye how to protect yerself so ye dinna feel so,” he pauses, searching for the right word, “so ye dinna feel so helpless.”

A breathtaking smile lights up her face, “I would like that, Jamie.” She turns her head slightly and presses a kiss to his palm, “You can’t take care of yourself if you’re always worrying about me.”

He chuckles, “I will always worry about you, Sassenach.”

They pull away from each other as Vinny sets the plates on the table and departs with a grin and a strict order to call for him if they need anything. Claire picked up her fork and knife and cut into the chicken on her plate, the thick cream sauce a nice addition to the savory flavor of the chicken, vegetables, and rice. The flavors dance across her tastebuds as she chews, delighting in the texture and warmth of the comfortable meal. She watches Jamie out of the corner of her eye, hiding a smile behind her hand as she basks in the warmth his presence exudes.

“How was the hospital?” He asks her, taking a sip of his water.

She grins, “oh, it was exciting!” she declares, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin before placing it in her lap, “we had a man come in who had cut his arm off at the factory. It was a clean cut so it should have been a simple cauterization, right?”

“Of course,” he nods.

“Except,” she continues, “my uncle didn’t want to leave him without a way to properly care for his family so, he reattached his arm!”

Jamie freezes and looks up at Claire in shock, “ye can do that?”

“It’s never been done before!” Claire exclaims, “and the other doctor assisting the surgery insisted that it couldn’t be done and was too risky, but he did it!”

Jamie’s jaw drops, “that’s amazing.”

Claire nods, “I know! The surgery was a success but as long as infection doesn’t set in and blood continues to flow to the limb, then he should make a full recovery.”

As Claire looks back down at her food, she misses the way Jamie’s gaze settles on the windows facing the street as his face hardens. His hands tense as his eyes scan the men arriving outside. Several doors slam at once as Jamie slowly stands to his feet and a group of men line up outside. Before Claire even registers what’s happening, she’s pulled around the table to Jamie’s side and the table’s flipped as shots ring through the air, the windows shatter and glass flies through the air. She’s pushed to the floor behind the table and Jamie crouches next to her, his pistol gripped in his hand, “stay down,” he hisses at her, resting his arms on the wooden edge as he aims at the men outside.

Claire peeks out from over the table, seeing a line of men in dark suits outside, each holding a rifle aimed at the building, people collapsing in sprays of blood as they’re struck, her instincts screaming at her to help them. She slowly creeps out from behind the table, using fallen chairs and knocked over tables for cover as she crawls toward a nearby man, his blood pooling on the floor around him. A bullet whizzes over her head as she crouches down, removing her scarf and pressing it to the man’s side, moving his red slicked hands away from the small wound.

A man with chocolate brown hair and cold eyes steps forward from behind the line of man, a bottle gripped firmly in his hand. “Red Jamie!” he shouts, the sound of a match striking hitting Jamie’s strained ears. “Tell Mr. MacKenzie that Mr. Masseria says hello!” The bottle is thrown through the air and lands on the floor, the glass shattering and the burning cloth quickly catching the spilled alcohol on fire.

“Claire!” Jamie slides around the table and grabs her arm, “we need to go now!”

“We can’t leave them!” she cries, trying to stop the blood from pouring out of the wound beneath her hands.

“We don’t have a choice!” he shouts, coughing as the smoke fills his lungs. He pulls roughly on Claire’s arm and the scarf slips through her fingers as he pulls her out the back door, taking deep breaths of the somewhat clean air of the alleyway. He trips over Vinny’s legs and lands on the ground, cushioning Claire’s fall with his body. She scrambles up and crawls to Vinny and Pete, “are either of you hurt?” She scans their bodies for visible injuries.

Pete shakes his head, coughing, “no,” he eyes Vinny, “we were uh, already out here when the shooting started.”

Claire nods, paying no mind to Pete’s embarrassed face as she takes his pulse, leaning over to do the same for Vinny, “do you feel sick?”

Vinny shakes his head, “we’re fine.” But as the sound of bells fill the air, Vinny pushes himself to his feet and pulls Pete up, “you gotta go!” They stumble to the end of the alley and Claire jumps up to pull the fire escape ladder down.

“We won’t tell ‘em you were here,” Pete states, holding the ladder steady as Claire climbs.

“Will ye be okay?” Jamie questions, climbing up behind Claire.

“We’ll be fine!” Vinny shouts, an explosion rattling the nearby buildings and almost sending them to their feet, “now go!” He pushes the ladder up and Jamie latches it in place before the couple makes their way to the front of the restaurant, holding tightly to each other as they go.

Claire races up the fire escape, lungs burning in her chest as she runs to the roof, desperate to leave behind the stench of blood and fire. Jamie’s close behind her, desperate to not let her out of his sight as they climb to the roof. She climbs up the ladder to the roof, stumbling over the edge and falling to her knees on the concrete, scraping her knees. Jamie kneels next to her and rests a hand on her shoulder, “are ye hurt, Sassenach?”

She shakes her head and stands up, pushing her hair out of her face, “no, I’m alright. Are you?”

Jamie stands and nods, “I’m fine,” he walks forward and rubs his chin, his mind racing with anger.

Claire eyes him in concern and walks forward, reaching out to touch his arm, “what’s wrong, Jamie?”

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, “everything’s fine. We need ta get out o’ here.”

She takes his hand gently, “everything’s not fine. What’s wrong?” Her touch the final push against the dam holding his frustration and fear back.

He whirls around, eyes dark with anger, “why dinna ye listen?!” He demands, “I told ye ta stay behind the table and ye didn’t listen! Ye could ha’ been killed, Claire!”

She steps back in surprise, her fists clenched, “I was fine, Jamie! I can’t sit back and watch people get killed without at least trying to help!”

“I gave ye an order!” he shouts.

Her cheeks burn with anger, “you can’t order me to do anything, Mr. Fraser. I’m not your servant!”

He walks towards her, causing her to back into the brick entrance to the roof, “nae but ye are mine,” he hisses, eyes flashing, “an’ it’s my job to keep ye safe but I canna do that if ye dinna listen!”

“I don’t _have_ to listen,” she replies, shouldering past him, “I can take care of myself and I _especially_ don’t need _you_.” Her mind a whirlwind of racing thoughts as the cord binding them together tightens and thrums with anticipation.

He catches her arm and spins to face her, “ye may no’ need me but I ken ye _want_ me.”

She glares at him, chin in the air, “do I?” 

Instead of answering, he pulls her to him, lips landing on hers in a firm kiss as he grips her arm tightly. She pushes him away, chest heaving and face flushed. They stare at each other in silence, the seconds ticking by as they almost vibrate in anger. Then, before Jamie can even begin to think of anything to say, Claire rushes forward and presses her lips to Jamie’s, tangling her fingers in his curls. He stumbles backwards against the wall and wraps his arms around her, pulling her flush against him. He tangles his fingers in her curls and tugs her head back, kissing her like a man starved for touch. She pulls him closer, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, meeting his with a strangled moan that he greedily swallows. She pulls back when the need for air is too great to ignore and lets her head rest against his chest, taking deep breaths as he rests his chin on her head, palms flat on her back.

A few minutes tick by as they breathe, their pulses, and thoughts, slowing down as they stand on the roof wrapped in each other’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Claire whispers, “you just wanted to keep me safe in there and I’m grateful.”

Jamie sighs and presses a kiss to the top of Claire’s head, “I’m sorry, Sassenach. I shouldna’ have expected ye to no’ help them. I was scared I would lose ye but I shouldna’ have acted the way I did.”

Claire looks up at him, “you had every right to. I should have just done as you said.”

He smiles and rests a palm on her cheek, “but that would have gone against who ye are.” He leans down and presses a soft kiss to her lips, “I will never expect ye to betray yerself to satisfy me.”

“But,” she says, “I need to be better about keeping myself safe in the process. Perhaps not moving about in a firefight, even if I’m using cover.” She smiles at him, “is that a compromise?”

Jamie chuckles, “’tis a grand compromise, mo chridhe.” He moves forward and looks around the roof, “now, we need to find a way out of here.” He makes his way to the opposite side of the roof and looks down at the alleyway.

“We can’t take the fire escape from this building,” Claire states, looking down at her bloodstained dress, “you would be fine, but I look suspicious.”

Jamie nods, “that’s a good point.” He rubs his chin, thinking, “we can wait here until they leave but it may be a while.”

Claire shakes her head with a grin, “we don’t need to wait. How’s your stamina, Fraser?”

He raises an eyebrow, “I dinna think I like the look in yer eye, Sassenach.”

“We take the roofs.” She stands in the middle of the roof, facing Jamie and stretches her legs.

“That’s no’ safe,” Jamie protests.

“It’s our only option,” Claire replies with a grin before she runs to the edge of the roof.

“Claire!”

_She jumps._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone liked this chapter! I'm sorry it's so short, I had so much fun writing it and I thought it ended perfectly. I couldn't find a genuine 1920's menu from Pete's Tavern so I just googled foods served in the 1920s and read until I found something that sounded like something Claire would eat. Also, the first successful case of limb replantation was recorded in the 1960s and I believe it was a finger? It's really really hard to do that successfully because there's a lot of factors that go into it (plus apparently leech therapy is common in limb replantation?) but I really wanted to include something like that and it was the only medicial procedure I could think of as I was writing. I'm not sure if I went into enough detail but let me know what you think! Thank you for reading :)


	10. Chapter 10

The following morning dawns with the slightest chill in the air as Jamie Fraser walks into Leoch with a skip in his step. The bell above the door jingles as he pushes it open and he greets Mrs. Fitz with a smile and a kiss on the cheek before he walks over to join Rupert and Angus at the card table. Before he makes it halfway, Laoghaire MacKenzie, with her hair pulled back into a bun and a few loose curls framing her face, steps into his path with a smile.

“Good morning, Jamie,” she says, placing a hand lightly on his arm, “I heard about what happened yesterday. I’m so sorry fer yer loss.”

“My loss?” Jamie questions, crossing his arms loosely over his chest to dislodge her hand.

“Ye dinna have ta hide yer feelings from me, Jamie,” she says, brushing a curl behind her ear.

“What are ye on about, lass?” Jamie questions, an eyebrow raised at the girl in front of him.

“I ken about the shootout yesterday,” Laoghaire explains patiently, her voice sickeningly sweet, “I ken ye must feel awful about what happened ta Claire,” she leans forward and touches his arm lightly, “I’m here for ye, Jamie.”

He steps back, a cold feeling settling into his stomach, “how do ye ken Claire? How did ye ken where we were yesterday?”

She frowns, “I saw ye yesterday and-”

“Did ye have anything ta do with what happened yesterday, Laoghaire?” Jamie questions sternly, anger and fear for Claire’s safety swirling in his chest.

She pauses for barely a second before answering him, “o’ course not, Jamie! I could ne’er do such a thing ta ye!”

Jamie takes another step back, arms at his side and his fists clenched, “I strongly suggest staying far away from Claire, Miss MacKenzie. I willna stand for any harm coming ta her, do ye understand me?”

Laoghaire pauses, “ye mean, she’s still alive?” Before Jamie can answer, her smile’s plastered back on her face, “that’s great! I was sae concerned fer her. If ye need anything Jamie, ye ken where ta find me.” She turns on her heel and disappears into the kitchen, strong perfume permeating the air in her wake.

He frowns and, with a shake of his head, walks down the hallway leading to the staircase and picks up the phone.

“Operator,” a calm voice answers, “number please.”

Jamie clears his throat and says, “VA-1020, please.”

“One moment,” the voice replies before a soft click sounds and three short rings echo through the speaker.

“Beauchamp residence,” answers the voice of an older woman, “this is Marian.”

“Hi Marian,” Jamie says, leaning against the wall, “may I speak ta Claire, please?”

“May I ask who’s calling?” she responds.

“James Fraser.”

“I’m sorry but Claire isn’t here right now, can I take a message?” Marian asks, picking up a pencil resting by the phone.

“Do ye ken where she went?” he asks, fingers tapping on his thigh.

“I believe she went to Harlem, Mr. Fraser,” she responds, the sounds of soft scratching echoing through the speaker as she writes down the content of the call for Claire to read later.

“Ah,” he sighs, “do ye ken when she’ll be back?”

“Is this an important matter, sir? I can direct you to Dr. Beauchamp.” Marian states.

“Och no,” Jamie says, “dinna fash, mistress, ‘twill bide until this evening. I thank ye kindly.” He hangs up the phone with a soft click and pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh, mind racing as he thinks through the implications of what Laoghaire said. As he begins to climb the staircase, a voice at the end of the hall stops him in his steps and he turns with a grin.

“A ghoistidh!” he calls, approaching Murtaugh with his arms open, “ye’re back early!” He wraps his arms around him as Murtaugh laughs, patting his back.

“Aye, a bhalaich,” he steps back and grasps Jamie’s shoulder, “I had a feeling ye got yerself into a wee bit o’ trouble. I heard about the shootout yesterday.”

Jamie sighs and nods, “I wasna worried about myself, a ghositidh, I wasna there alone and I feared for her.”

Murtaugh gestures for Jamie to follow him down the hallway and they take a seat outside the kitchen, “have ye found her then?”

“Aye,” a smile spreads across his face, “she’s wonderful, Murtaugh. She’s smart and kind, a wonderful healer with the gentlest touch, I ken ye’d love her, I’ve never met anyone like her… like Claire.”

“Claire?”

“Aye,” Jamie sighs, “mo Sorcha.”

Murtaugh chuckles, “how long have ye kent the lass, then?”

“Christ,” he says, rubbing his face, “four days?”

Murtaugh nods with a laugh, “yer moving slower than yer parents did, a bhalaich.”

Before Jamie can respond, Dougal descends the staircase and stands in front of the two men, “get upstairs,” he orders, “Colum needs yer assistance. Where are Rupert and Angus?”

Jamie gestures down the hall, “playing cards.”

Dougal rolls his eyes and walks down the hall, his steps heavy on the hardwood flooring. Murtaugh heaves a sigh and stands up, “back ta work then?”

Jamie laughs and stands, “as always. Ye got a piece, auld man?”

Murtaugh scoffs, “who ye calling auld?” He takes the stairs two at a time, rushing ahead of Jamie who laughs and races after him, bounding up the stairs as their steps echo around them.

They arrive on the landing and Jamie adjusts his tie and suit jacket before pushing the door to Colum’s meeting room with a polite smile on his face. “Uncle,” he greets, taking the seat to his left as Murtaugh takes the seat next to him. They share a look while they wait for Colum to organize his pens and Rupert and Angus to arrive from downstairs. Thankfully they didn’t have to wait for long as the sounds of heavy footsteps and gruff laughter float up the staircase as the door is pushed open and two grinning men fall through the open doorway. Jamie watches, hiding the urge to laugh with a cough, as the two men make their way to the other side of the table, collapsing into a pair of sturdy mahogany chairs.

With a sigh, Colum flips open his notepad and looks at the ragtag group of four men in front of him, Dougal standing behind his shoulder with his arms crossed. “Do ye recall the pickup from Sunday?”

“It’d be hard ta forget,” Rupert replies, rubbing his side with a frown.

“Which is why ye’re ta sit this one out,” Colum states.

“Can I at least drive the truck?” he protests, wincing as he leans forward in his seat.

“Nae, Rupert, I need ye in top shape ta help. Take this time ta rest,” Colum instructs, holding his pen in his hand and staring at Rupert with a level look.

He sighs and leans back in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest resignedly.

“Fer the rest o’ ye,” Colum starts, “we have a transfer we need ta watch over.”

“A transfer?” Jamie questions with a raised eyebrow, “of what exactly? And for whom?”

“What it is doesna matter,” he explains lowly, “’tis for a business acquaintance.”

“A business acquaintance?” Murtaugh questions, “do we ken this acquaintance?” Jamie glances at him and gives a small shake of his head, all of the “business acquaintances” have been accounted for in the books, this is something, or someone, different.

Colum, electing to ignore the question, continues, “Angus, Jamie, and Murtaugh, I need ye ta watch over this transfer and make sure it goes smoothly. If anything goes wrong, ‘twill be on yer heads.”

“Will pistols be enough for this then?” Jamie asks, leaning forward with his hands on the table, “if yer sure something will go wrong.”

“Ye’re there to prevent things from going wrong,” Colum asserts with a frown, “ye’re ta meet the team in south Broadway, behind the old warehouse. Ye’ll ken the signal when ye see it.”

“In broad daylight?” Angus asks, arms crossed over his chest.

“Ye’re less likely to be eejits in broad daylight,” Colum replies, his tone discouraging any arguments.

Jamie sighs and stands, “aye, Uncle,” he says, bowing slightly at the waist before taking his leave and walking down the stairs, brain racing as he thinks through the possibilities. The three other men follow quickly behind him and the group disappears through the back door of the restaurant, crowding around a small unlit fire pit as Angus digs his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

“I dinna like this,” Rupert says, taking the proffered cigarette from Angus and lighting it with a match. “Something doesna feel right.”

Murtaugh nods knowingly, “I dinna like the look in Colum’s eyes, he kens this is gonna go wrong.” Taking a cigarette out of his own pocket and lighting it on the match Jamie strikes before lighting his own.

“Ye think this is a setup?” Jamie asks, blowing a smooth stream of smoke out of his mouth.

“I dinna believe Colum would do that ta us,” Angus protests, cigarette dangling precariously from his lips.

Rupert looks around before gesturing the group to get closer together, “last week I saw a folder in Dougal’s office, ‘twas definitely not a real name listed but I dinna recognize any of the information.”

“Is this Dougal’s doing?” Jamie questions, fingers tapping lightly on his thigh.

“I dinna ken,” Rupert said, “I dinna think Dougal would betray anyone unless Colum’s in on it but ye’re his nephew and the best shot out o’ all o’ us, they wouldna risk ye.”

Jamie shakes his head but before he can say anything, Angus speaks up, “no, he’s right, Jamie. Something’s not right but Colum and Dougal wouldna risk pushing ye ta join someone else.”

“Dougal wouldna think twice,” Jamie protests.

“Aye,” Murtaugh begins slowly, “but maybe Dougal is keeping something from Colum. Ye do the books and said everyone’s been paid, right?”

“Aye,” Jamie says, raising an eyebrow, “but even if Colum doesna ken everything, he’s still hiding something.”

“Maybe he doesna ken the ‘business acquaintance,” Rupert says, rubbing his chin, “maybe that’s why he didna answer. Because he doesna ken.”

“Nae, ‘tis no’ like Colum ta do anything wi’out information,” Murtaugh says.

“Unless,” Angus interrupts, “he was promised something bigger. Maybe Dougal kens but didna tell Colum because Colum wouldna approve.”

“Aye,” Jamie says, “aye, that could be possible.” He flicks his cigarette butt into the firepit and blows out the last of the smoke.

“We need a plan,” Murtaugh begins, “for when this all goes wrong.”

Jamie snorts, “ye have such faith in us, a ghoistidh.”

“No,” Angus begins, “Murtaugh’s right. We need a plan since we canna go to the hospital.”

“We go to Claire,” Jamie says.

“Yer lass?” Murtaugh questions, dropping his cigarette butt in the firepit with a sigh, “what will she be able ta do?”

“She’s a nurse,” he explains, “and her uncle is a doctor.”

“Aye, they treated us on Sunday,” Rupert says, nodding his head, “that could work. We dinna ken if anyone will be there though.”

Jamie hums in acknowledgement, “Rupert, can ye go ahead and warn Dr. Beauchamp? Claire’s in Harlem so I dinna ken if she’ll be there.”

Rupert nods and tosses his cigarette butt in the firepit, “’tis easy enough.”

Murtaugh sighs and takes his pistol out of his waistband, checking the clip quickly, “should be quick, ‘specially if they pull first.” He says, tucking the weapon back into his waistband.

Jamie digs his car keys out of his pocket, “let’s head out, Colum dinna give us a time and I’d rather be prepared.”

“Maybe we can stop for breakfast,” Angus says, crushing his second cigarette underneath his shoe.

“Is yer brain always on food,” Rupert asks, pushing Angus down the alleyway to the street.

Jamie and Murtaugh follow closely behind, their stomachs rumbling at the thought of a warm meal in the early hour.

* * *

A few hours later, after spotting the signal, Jamie’s car pulls up to the curb and he turns the engine off, sighing as he checks the clip in his pistol.

“Alright, are ye ready?” he asks the two men in his car, gaze flicking between the two of them.

“As ever,” Murtaugh sighs, pushing the car door open and stepping out on the snowy sidewalk, shutting the door behind him as Angus and Jamie step out.

Their doors shut and they walk down the dirty alleyway, leaving footsteps in the light dusting of snow. They emerge in a small clearing between the buildings, a small truck backed in from another alley. A group of men are pulling boxes out of the back as they approach. The taller man of the unnamed group straightens and approaches Jamie, “you Masseria’s men?” He gestures behind him to the boxes, “we’ve got the black tar if you’ve got the cash.”

Before Jamie can say anything, Angus nods, “show us the product first.”

The unnamed man stares at Angus in surprise and Jamie tenses as the seconds tick by, then the man chuckles and nods, “you’re the buyer.”

He bends down and pushes a box towards Angus who crouches down and pulls it open. He lifts off the top layer of cigars to reveal hundreds of glassine bags of heroin, the bags gleaming in the sunlight.

Jamie stifles his groan with a cough and nods, “looks good, let’s get these men paid and load it up.”

As Angus closes the box, the sound of squealing tires fills the air as a car rushes down the alley. The car comes to a stop and five men pile out, Model 1918’s gripped firmly in their hands. A man with a dark suit and chocolate brown hair steps forward, glaring at Jamie with a frown, “Red Jamie, or should I say Private Fraser? What a lovely surprise.”

“Black Jack,” Jamie hisses, hand twitching at his side with the urge to reach for his pistol.

Black Jack clicks his tongue at Jamie and shakes his head, resting his rifle on his shoulder, “I go by Frank now.” A slight German accent slips into his voice, “It’s amazing what money will do in this country.” He grins, “how’s your back?”

Murtaugh steps next to Jamie in silent support while Angus slowly rises from his crouched position. Black Jack gestures the men behind him to move forward, “get the boxes. I want to have a little chat with my friend here.”

It’s tense as the men behind Black Jack walk forward, one of them withdraws a wad of cash from his pocket and tosses it at the feet of the unnamed man who crouches down to pick it up. They begin picking the boxes up, slowly moving them to their car while the rest of the men remain silent.

Black Jack takes another step forward and looks Jamie up and down, eyes flashing with a barely restrained anger, “I could never decide how I felt about not being able to give you that third whipping,” he sighs, “if only Robert hadn’t defended you. He was so… willing.”

Jamie flinches and Murtaugh places his hand lightly on Jamie’s arm in both support and restraint.

Black Jack takes another step closer to Jamie, “you wouldn’t believe how hard it was to escape Sedan, but getting to America?” He takes a deep breath and grins, “that was the easy part.” He swings his rifle down, resting it against his foot, “I had a cousin that died in the war and with a few grand? It was easy to make a few,” he rubs his chin, “changes.”

“Frank Randall,” Jamie hisses, mind flashing to what Claire shared with him yesterday.

He nods and grins, “I do enjoy America so much more than Germany,” he says, “the people are so… easy.”

Jamie’s fists clench tightly, his nails digging into his palms, images of Claire passing rapidly through his brain.

“There’s this woman,” Black Jack continues, “her uncle trusted me so easily but she,” he shakes his head with a smirk, “she was a challenge. I proposed to her but well.”

“Shut up.”

“What was that, lad?” he asks with a grin, “do you want to hear more? I know you know her, she refused to say but I know it’s you she loves.” He shakes his head, “her inheritance? She would have been a wonderful conquest.”

“I said,” Jamie pulls out his pistol and aims at Black Jack, “Shut. Up.”

Every man in the large gap between the buildings pulls out their weapons, aiming at either Jamie or Black Jack

“Now, now, Private Fraser,” he says, “there’s no need to be rash, here. I’m just making conversation.”

“Say one more word, Randall,” Jamie hisses, “I dare you. One! More! Word!”

It’s quiet in the alleyway, the sounds of cars on the street barely breaking through the tension surrounding the men like a dark bubble in the air. Jamie breathes heavily though his aim barely wavers, his face red with barely restrained anger, and his heart pounds in his chest. Murtaugh stands next to him, his gun trained on Black Jack Randall, his heart pounding in time with his godson’s. Angus stands to Jamie’s right, his gun trained on the man closest to Randall, his heart steady in his chest but his mind racing in anger.

“Claire,” Randall grins.

Jamie pulls the trigger, and all hell breaks loose. A sharp pain shoots through his shoulder and he shoots one more time before he falls to the ground, the snow turning red beneath him.

* * *

Claire’s morning starts off the same as usual; quiet and calm, birds chirping quietly outside, ready for spring to dawn and the world to awaken. She rolls over, her curls a frizzy miss around her hair and she watches the sun make its morning journey rising from the other side of the world. Sometimes, when it’s just you in the morning, watching the sun wake up, you can pretend that the sun is waking up just for you. That the sun is shining to say hello and to make sure you have a good morning. Perhaps it’s selfish to think that way, selfish to think the sun just wants to say “hello, good morning”, selfish because she has Jamie and he’s bright enough to light up every morning. Though it may be selfish, it helps remind us of a constant in our lives, the sun will always rise and set, being greeted by the moon every night like lovers passing each other in the street, destined to miss each other.

A bird sits on her windowsill, whistling lightly in the morning, hopping on the bricks as she sings. It’s calmer in the morning, before the world wakes up and everyone’s day begins. Yet, as Claire watches the bird, it’s almost as if they’re kindred spirits, meeting just this once as a reminder of what’s to come and it soothes her, makes her watch to reach out and touch its wing. Maybe she can take flight with it.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a soft knocking on the door before it creaks open, revealing Sarah carrying a tray of tea in her arms. She walks in and places the tray on Claire’s nightstand and pushes the curtains further open, her friend taking flight into the morning. With a stretch and a sigh, Claire sits up and brushes her hair out of her face, smiling softly at Sarah as she putters about her room. She reaches for the tray and places it on her lap, pouring the warm tea into the small cup and dropping a sugar cube into the liquid, stirring it gently as the sugar dissolves.

Claire looks up as Sarah opens the wardrobe and shoots her a questioning glance, “any preferences this morning?”

She nods with a smile, “the gold one please, with the leaf designs.”

Sarah nods and withdraws the calf length gold silk dress and lays it at the foot of Claire’s bed, “oh, that reminds me,” she begins, “mama wasn’t able to get those stains out of your dress. What did you say they were again?”

“Jam,” she murmurs, sipping her tea, “there was a small accident on the way home from the hospital.”

“Well, Mama tried all the tricks she knows for jam but could barely get any out. It’s soaking in the pot right now,” Sarah explains, crouched in front of the wardrobe, digging through Claire’s shoes, “but I’ve never seen a jam stain like that.” Without looking up from the wardrobe, she says, “do be careful, Claire.”

Claire sighs and sets her teacup down, “does she know?”

Sarah shakes her head, “no. Mama’s none the wiser.” She stands up, a pair of Oxfords in her hand, “what are you getting into, Claire? How much do I need to cover for you?”

“You don’t need to cover for me, Sarah.” Claire frowns, “I don’t want you to risk anything.”

She sighs and sits in front of Claire, taking one of Claire’s hands gently in her own, “you’re my friend, Claire, of course I will cover you.” She’s quiet for a moment before speaking up again, “are you in danger?”

Claire shakes her head quickly, “I’m safe.” She smiles at Sarah and squeezes her hands, “I’m grateful for everything you do for me, Sarah.”

“You would do the same for me,” she says before standing and setting the Oxford’s on the ground. She moves the tray off Claire’s lap and gestures for her to stand.

It’s quiet in the house as Claire prepares for her day, Sarah brushing the tangles out of her hair before gently rubbing oil into the strands, taming them as she hums softly to herself. After she’s done, Claire stands and slips the dress on over her ivory girdle.

“Ye dinna need that, hen,” Geillis says as she walks into Claire’s room.

“The dress?” Claire questions with a smile.

“The cage,” she replies with a roll of her eyes, “ye have a wonderful figure without it.”

Claire laughs and turns towards the floor length mirror, twisting side to side to look at her reflection, “I like the way it makes me feel.” She says, “it makes me feel powerful.”

“That cage makes ye feel powerful?” She questions with raised eyebrows.

“I’m not sure why,” Claire responds with a shrug, “but it’s certainly better than a corset.”

Geillis shakes her head and laughs, “alright, ye make a good point.” She sits on Claire’s bed and leans back on her hands, “ye ready to see Joe today?”

She nods quickly with a smile, “I’ve missed him!” She pauses for a moment, “but… I just feel like something bad is going to happen today.” She turns back to her vanity and picks up a bracelet, slipping it on to her wrist, “this afternoon.”

Geillis frowns with a concern, “would ye rather stay home today, hen?”

She shakes her head, “no but perhaps we could convince Joe to spend the day here with us? We could help him close his shop for the day and we could listen to some records here?”

“If ye’re sure lass,” she says, standing up just as the doorbell buzzes downstairs.

With a frown, Claire leads the other two women downstairs just as Marian opens the door to reveal a tall blond police officer who promptly removes his hat and tucks it under his arm.

“Hello,” he greets, “is Miss Claire Beauchamp home?”

“Yes, one moment,” she turns around to see Claire standing in the middle of the staircase and gestures to the door, “it’s for you, dear.”

Claire sighs and descends the staircase, Geillis at her side. She walks to the door and switches places with Marian, “hello, officer. Would you like to come in?”

The officer nods and steps inside, Claire shutting the door behind him to keep out the chill. It’s quiet for a moment before the officer clears his throat and says, “good morning, Miss Beauchamp. I’m here on behalf of the New York City Police Department. Are you aware of an incident that occurred yesterday at Pete’s Tavern around one thirty pm?”

The panic must show on her face because the officer continues, “a woman came to the station about an hour ago and placed you at the scene of the crime.” He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and looks down at the writing, “she gave us your name, address, and a description of what you were wearing.”

“Well, Officer, I-”

Geillis looks back and forth between Claire and the officer, biting her bottom lip as she watches Claire’s face pale.

“If you could come to the station with me, Miss Beauchamp, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Before Claire can say anything, Geillis speaks up, “that’s impossible, officer. After Claire finished her shift at the hospital, I was with her for the rest of the day.”

The officer looks at her with a raised eyebrow, “and you are?”

“Geillis Duncan.”

“Unfortunately, Miss Duncan, she was placed at the scene of the crime and since you’re the only one who has a different story, she will still need to come to the station.”

Geillis sighs, “we were in Harlem, officer. I can give ye the contact information for our friend if ye’d like to check with him.”

The office shakes his head, “that won’t be necessary, Miss Duncan, I need Miss Beauchamp to answer a few questions.”

“Officer,” Sarah starts, stepping forward, “if mistress Beauchamp were indeed responsible for any crimes committed, her dress would have blood stains, right?”

He nods slowly, “usually, yes.”

“And blood is nearly impossible to get out?”

He narrows his eyes at Sarah and nods silently.

She stands straighter, “I’m her lady’s maid, officer, I can get you the dress she wore yesterday to support Miss Duncan’s claims of Miss Beauchamp being in Harlem at the time of the incident.”

The officer sighs, “if the dress is clean and dry then that will be sufficient evidence to clear Miss Beauchamp of any suspicion.”

Sarah nods and, with a light touch to Claire’s arm, walks down the hallway towards the laundry chute room. The foyer is silent as the group waits for Sarah to bring out the blood stained dress that will seal Claire’s future as a murder suspect. Her heart races in her chest and she makes eye contact with Geillis, fear meeting fear as they wait for Claire’s inevitable arrest.

Another minute passes before the sound of light footsteps echo down the otherwise silent hallway and Sarah reappears with something draped over her arm. She walks towards the officer and holds up a clean and dry dress, not a stain in sight. She shows the officer both sides of the similar, but not quite the same, dress and then drapes it back over her arm with a patient smile.

“As you can see, officer, this dress is completely clean. Miss Beauchamp couldn’t have been involved in any incident yesterday or else it would be filthy.”

“She was with me in Harlem,” Geillis asserts, linking arms with Claire as Sarah stands at her other side.

The officer puts his hat back on with a sigh, “I apologize for wasting your time, ladies. Enjoy your day.”

Marian opens the door for him and shuts it behind him with a soft click. She turns to the three women and sighs, “you three will send me to an early grave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick historical note about the phone number: I literally had 10 tabs open on my computer so I could get the tiny part as accurate as possible. New York, at the time, operate on a 2L-4N phone system so VA (vanderbilt since they live in the mansion built by the Vanderbilt's) was an actual one and I chose 1020 because that's Claire's birthday. I tried finding the actual phone number for the Vanderbilt's mansion in the 1920's but it was empty at the time so it wouldn't have had one. Also I'm pretty sure my google searches on how Heroin (Black Tar) was shipped in the 1920s probably flagged me in some system. 
> 
> I desperately wanted this to end a certain way but it was already way too long and I wanted to publish the chapter and make sure everyone likes it. I hope you all enjoy this!! Please don't hesitate to comment and let me know what you think. I love reading your comments! They brighten my day ☺️  
> I hope you're all doing well! and thank you so much for reading 💗<3  
> P.S: if you get a notification that this was updated again, I don’t have a beta and found some Errors™️ I wanted to fix


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